It’s raining. It’s been raining since 4am when I let my dog out for his espresso free morning glory. The apartment has been invaded with the sweet aromas Tokyo offers when wet. Musky yes yet also vibrant and somewhat addictive.
On my patio: a nasal mosaic of earthy basil, Italian parsley and chives. Pungent stalks of lemon balm fresh from the volcanic earth have been coaxed into my teapot.
Days like this are meant for reflection and inner thought.
The job search continues. Not for lack of effort but rather a need not to rush into any substandard kitchens, as this is a city that personifies competitiveness.
I loose my train of thought…..like a punch to the face my cat relieves himself in his sandbox…bastard.
I find my thought, only to be plesently interrupted by the tart kisses of steam lunging forth from my closet sized rendition of a kitchen.
It’s dinnertime, my own tomato ragu on shitty store bought pasta.
A dinning room
I miss it, the smell of snuffed candles, bitter as they expire on the departure of my guests.
The warm glow in the air when the dinning room closes.
The yukaflux of women’s perfume in the air staining my whites.
I miss it. I miss the rush.