Musasi

For Dinner.

Transcribed from pencil on 8 November 2011…

I am in a Japanese restaurant. There is something very authentic about these places. The Asian stuff for instance. The lighting is dim, and very Japanese. It emanates from behind veiled walls and from colorful paper balls. Over the bar (where I am sitting), it shines down from the slightly overhanging roof protecting the sushi chefs. The case immediately in front of me contains the tentacle of an octopus.

I am drinking (about to finish) my second small glass of cold sake and I feel great. I feel very tired, but I feel great philosophically. The shrill voice of a woman I wish I had not noticed is piercing my thoughts and only slightly degrading my mood.