cool Japanese

The cool Japenese are surrounded by bags. On this train. They look futuristic. With Beatle haircuts.

Bags with names and logos. Expensive looking.

I am merely an observer here.
I scratch my nose.
I smell my finger.
It smells of butter.

It always has.

Eating ice creams and postcards home smell of vanilla.

They all have
electrical gadgets. It’s a stereotype, maybe, but they do. I can see then.
In their hands.

Its true. Circuits and conduits. Encased in plastic. On this train.

There is an edge
a ledge,
I am
on the precipice of it all.

The cool Japanese from a neon land of busy cross roads, silver metallic architecture, silver and shining. Thinking on symbols.

And my thoughts were derailed when she embarked – the future men became background when she walked past – moving a paper and sitting down opposite me and
my DNA.


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