Evenings start earlier as Winter comes closer. It’s like the magnifying glass. The closer you get to it, the shorter you’ll be seen from other side of the glass. The shorter the time, the shorter the life of the sunshine and the darker the weather. Left the office a little later than usual so I could take a walk. My colleague, Christina, was saying the other day that humans need to walk a few hundred steps every day otherwise they won’t be able to shit peacefully and painlessly. I can’t remember but she didn’t say shit, to be precise. I’ll leave that to another time. So I left the office to go for a walk. Took my mini sack of coins with me to buy food for dinner. You get too many coins as change here in Japan every time you buy something. One yen, five yen, ten yen, one hundred, five hundred. You can buy lots of food with a few hundred yen if you know where to go. Anyway, on the way I was thinking to myself, there must be someone somewhere in a corner in Japan who collects coins and never spends them. And I’m thinking, they must be saving to do something important with them; but then, how big is a room to fit in a million one yen coins. Does it matter? It really doesn’t. They probably sit down every afternoon, with a cup of hot tea, and think about the last day when the last one yen or ten yen or whatever yen coin is collected. Chink. Chink. Chink. Who knows. Three one hundred yen, or three one yen, or three five hundred yen coins. There it is. Done. “tomorrow I’ll go buy that house”, they’d probably think to themselves. I’m thinking, how long did that take them? Two years? Three years? Ten? Fifty? That’s the coin collector. They never worry about the time they spent. Chink, chink, chink. Three coins. Four. five. With every word I write, the coin collector chinks another one in. I will stop, but you heard the chink, it wasn’t my coin collector. It’s another one. In your country. Near you. Let them cherish the chink.
November, something, some year