A lot of passengers get off at Shinjuku, leaving the carriage mostly empty. I sit at the end of a centre-facing bench seat, take the almost weightless paper bag I’ve been holding in my hand, and place it gently on my lap. I lean forward and breathe in deeply through my nose. Although it’s impossible, I’m certain I catch a hint of the sweet smell of flowers. I often come across things I think men would never understand. Indeed, I’m almost positive no man could ever understand most of the things I feel. Not just the good things that happen after shopping, but also my insistence that one should
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