Sharp Fox Face. She is walking past ruins of burnt building behind koban, moving away from Basketball Street and towards Spain zaka and from there points unknown. Pinpoint vector lines connecting motion of muscle tissue to cloud shapes overhead. Giant hands in the sky above cupping the Yamanote line below, maintaining the tiny gardens with mass humidity, the moisture coming from you and me as we work ourselves to get on and off the trains to take us to department stores escalators, lines for theme cafes, fast food places with foreign staff, stuff to look and buy on an endless gauntlet (permanent state of construction / reconstruction) inside air conditioning jacked on high. I’m hot, then I’m freezing, now I’m crawling home to lay on the floor where I’ll be sure to find at least a bug or two hiding in the always too-small-sheets when I wake up at 2:46am thinking about what to do for the next seven hours before Shibuya opens and fills up with Sharp Fox Faces all over again.