I met up with old high school friend Sebastian yesterday evening in Shinjuku (he and his family were on a family trip in Japan and dropped by in Tokyo for two nights). After we had dinner, he left and I walked off to catch the bus.
As I walked past the Shinjuku Station West Exit, our conversation swirled in my mind, people from high school, those who had just gotten married, those who had just gotten engaged, previous loves, our careers in film (Sebastian works in RHYTHM AND HUES and had just made a short film called Hashshashin's Revolt, it was a valiant attempt), and the like.
Perhaps time was indeed passing me by, I thought in slight melancholy. Ah, memory, a constant source of pain.
It was Sunday evening, Shinjuku was characteristically crowded. Yet I walked in solitude, past the crowds of people, past lovers whispering sweet nothings to each other, past tourists mesmerized by the bustling energy of Shinjuku, past a pair of pretty twin sisters singing at the street, past a happy family, past a couple of homeless guys-
Eh?
I stopped, and looked back at the pair of pretty twin sisters.
As I walked past the Shinjuku Station West Exit, our conversation swirled in my mind, people from high school, those who had just gotten married, those who had just gotten engaged, previous loves, our careers in film (Sebastian works in RHYTHM AND HUES and had just made a short film called Hashshashin's Revolt, it was a valiant attempt), and the like.
Perhaps time was indeed passing me by, I thought in slight melancholy. Ah, memory, a constant source of pain.
It was Sunday evening, Shinjuku was characteristically crowded. Yet I walked in solitude, past the crowds of people, past lovers whispering sweet nothings to each other, past tourists mesmerized by the bustling energy of Shinjuku, past a pair of pretty twin sisters singing at the street, past a happy family, past a couple of homeless guys-
Eh?
I stopped, and looked back at the pair of pretty twin sisters.
