Lost and Found

I wait for J outside the Labi store on Shinjuku-dori. Bodies with umbrellas for heads bob up and down the length of it. I spot another Labi about fifteen feet away, the Tokyo skyline its backdrop. Warm rain falls. Cars slow, stop and a pedestrian crossing sounds; I mistake it – again – for bird song. I’m positive this is the right Labi store. I think.

Yesterday, we took a walk. J pulled us off the main street and into a back road lacking sound. Traditional ryokan-styled shacks acknowledged us silently. Frying meat smells swam up my nose. A small elderly Japanese woman appeared in a doorway and smiled at us. She pointed to a spot on the ground and we left our flip flops there. She showed us to a booth with a low table hovering just above the ground. A thin curtain separated us from the other patrons. The frying meat smells became beef okazu and white rice for starters. We played footsie for the first time, ever.

This is definitely the right Labi store. I think.

I take a quick look inside it and decide to stay out here; it’d be easy to get lost amidst the digital cameras, handheld consoles, washing machines. Outside, sunset accentuates the neon signs over a karaoke bar, a Happy Burger, Manga. A Japanese businessman catches my eye and bows. I bow back.

I’m at the wrong store. I’m lost.
J appears: ‘You found it OK, then.’ He grins.
I swat at him.
He takes my hand.