Cloudy, windy.
Today, again, I go out of my way to walk where I could take the bus. Lately, I like walking in residential areas.
As I walk around residential areas here and there, I gradually come to understand my own preferences. I have a standard for what I don’t want to live in this neighborhood and what I would like to live in this neighborhood.
Even the most ordinary residential area has its own unique atmosphere. I guess I like to sense the slight differences.
Sometimes I find a small shopping street, a pharmacy, a supermarket, and so on. Some are deserted, some are trendy. There are also some snack bars with strange names.
If I had been born in this area, I would have come to this store, which makes me feel strange. I even feel as if I had lived here. I might have eaten takoyaki (octopus balls), bought flowers there, and sang karaoke at the counter.
Today, I was in a residential area with a few factories. It was a town that felt a little deserted, somehow suited to the twilight of a winter’s day.
Under the setting sun, a young worker of Southeast Asian descent was sitting on the sidewalk in front of the factory, eating his lunch alone. He looked so lonely that I couldn’t help but want to eat alongside him.
It is at times like this that poetry comes to mind, and I feel like twisting a haiku. Perhaps the result will be something like the twilight of a winter’s day.
A wabish day to think of hometown in the twilight
