At Logan now, beside a large, slanted window with views East of the harbor and Long Island and the tarmacs with planes ascending and the sun rising. Earlier it was a jaunt in ten degree weather with big, sniffing dogs in their heyday as I gradually lost most sensation in my toes and fingers.
Planet Japan’s signals have been getting louder and the first leg of the trip will take us to Detroit. From there a brief layover and then the long flight across the International Dateline and then views of a distant, cold archipelago.
They are putting out the alcoholic beverages for the dissolute. A TV offers a smudged sound from the next room. A man says, “hey,” into his cell phone, and then, “Don’t kill yourself, I know you have a busy day, don’t get jammed on my account, love you.”
The black coffee creates a dullness. A new memoir by Eddie Huang reviewed in today’s NYT sounds very good although the writer, Dwight Garner refers to Mr. Huang’s hometown of Orlando, Florida as, “America’s least interesting city,” an egregious and ironically insecure remark rather than a keen observation.
“Sumimasen, Anata wa watashi no itte iru koto ga kikoeru?”
Yes, I hear you, Japan, I hear you!”