He shows me pictures on his phone – busy lights, views from the Shinkansen, a million strangers crossing Shibuya all trying to get somewhere.
It looks like you had fun, I say.
Yeah, but it was lonely. There’s something about Tokyo. You get these automatic faucets and dispensers, doors all opening by sensors. There’s no touching, no intimacy. It’s fucking depressing.
I nod but don’t say anything. How can I? He’s not mine. But my love for him is automatic. If he only knew how I dropped everything today just to see him. And all he had to do was ask.
This and other 100-word stories in Project 0.1.
♫: Barenaked Ladies | Call and Answer (1998)