We live in an apartment on the fourth floor of a pink building with a dinosaur on the side. He’s a mascot for the laundromat downstairs.
Next door is a “Girl’s Bar,” in a black building so close you could reach out our bedroom window and touch it. Must be a tame locale–we’ve never heard any music, laughter, or shouting.
Just around the corner is a blue building with an Okinawan food restaurant, where we speak Spanish to our Japanese waitress.
There’s a partially-covered highway just down the street, and we use it as a landmark on our long, winding runs. A sort of homing device.
We’re about 2 blocks away from Makuharihongo station, and at night we can hear the trains passing in the near distance, going “shk-shk-shk.”
Across the street is a French-style bakery named Elefante, where we get sandwiches for picnics with friends, or sweet buns and pastries on lazy weekend mornings.
There’s a grocery store, a convenience store, a dollar store and a discount liquor mart, all within a one-block radius.
It’s a small, sleepy commuter suburb, but it has everything we need. It’s our little corner of the world, and it’s perfect.
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