In the evening, the cabin is swollen with the noise of train life: people shuffle their bottoms across mysteriously shaped stains on the seats, a toddler jabbers and sighs, mobile phones emit white noise that is inaudible until it isn't there and you hear its absence. Through a variegated sea of distressed Levis and breath-constricting Cheap Mondays, an elderly man in a track suit and Crocodile golf visor sucks the marrow out of what is actually not a bone but a sushi roll. The tamago slides past his lips like a tongue. The seaweed casing starts to collapse into itself. Boku has seen the Crocodile Man before... in a dream about the Freudian meaning of a well in Kyoto. Boku hopes this train goes to Kyoto... except it probably won't because he got his travel instructions from a nameless cat.
a blog by the writer E. S. Liew. Because the best ideas start on the back of receipts and paper napkins, written with a Staedtler 2B pencil.