Banged and smashed getting off the Inokashira-sen. A cold since Friday and a hangover since I woke up. Coming from Shibuya with the day laborers. Heart slugging away in my chest. Symphonic Suite Yamato boxset the only thing holding me together. Who could be looking worse than me?
Koen guchi: he walks straight towards me on my left. Shock of gray hair, bright red jacket, blue jeans, cherry red sneakers. Weird way for an old duffer to dress. And the way he blinks, hard, like storm shutters in a Halloween cartoon.
Holy shit, it’s manga-ka Kazuo Umezu. Legendary that he lives in Kichijoji. Always expected to see him doing a Daffy Duck in the park; hopping from lily pad to lily pad pouring ketchup on his head.
Instead, he looks torn and frayed.Tired. But writing and drawing Drifting Classroom, My Name is Shingo, and Fourteen would certainly do that to you.
He shambles off down the escalator and maybe to Bar Jap? I’m off to Lon Lon in search of perfect bento.
Tell it to the Honda-san. “Sure, I’ve seen Umezu many times just walking down the street. His number is even listed in the phone book.”
Imaginary digits being dialed in-between chunks of tonkatsu.
“Dude, I think I love you dude.”