Strange Weather in Tokyo

by Hiromi Kawakami

On one trip, I bought a huge iron pot. I had thought it would be useful to have when I cooked for a lot of people, but when did I ever have that many people at my apartment?

But Satoru was always there, along with the usual crowd of familiar faces. And I never really acknowledged that any of them were alive in any way. I never gave any thought to the fact that they were leading the same kind of complicated life as I was.

I find something quite carefree about the days around the winter solstice, when the daylight is so brief it seems like it’s chasing you.

And then as the years passed, I turned into quite a childlike person. I suppose I just wasn’t able to ally myself with time.