February 26th, 2004
107804016845206510
Echoes
Tokyo is a lot quieter at half-past six. The center of the city is near empty; still; the roads with a few vacant taxis and service vehicles. The narrow side streets stremming off from Yoyogi station are cold, devoid of the caffeine-packed tension brought by a thousand weary faces in trenchcoats. The sun is still bowing to the silhouette of Glaxo Smith Kline and Docomo, the lesser buildings wrapped in a deep blue slate wash.
I make my way to the station effortlessly, indulging a half-honest yearning to play, swinging my filthy aluminum bicycle left and right absentmindedly. If yesterday was a painful struggle to get up, today is a mummified stupor. Cloaked in fatigue like an oily rag, I manage only part of the composure I desire for locomotion.
My mind grasps at things, never completely latching on. I cross my legs fitfully as more commuters board the train and slide farther off the seat. Japan is not a noisy country in public. People rarely talk, and if they do it’s in a voice softer and without bass. But this morning there is even less ambient noise, fewer footfalls and stifled coughing. The train bells echo longer, almost annoyingly so. My neck strains leaning against a thin rail. The hum of the radiator drones and pulses. More people get on and I recross my legs. Two acquaintances recognize each other and break the silence. I get off the train and walk behind a girl with curls in her hair and thick perfume. Doors begin to open and gates are unlocked, and this way I start again.
