natasha nakamura's diary
After the typhoon, a heavenly day. Clouds are a gift of nature. Perpetually clear blue skies would be as boring as perpetual smiles.
Tokyo bicycle manufacturers understand that brakes applied delicately should let off a small squeak like a whisper in the ear, to warn people walking ahead that a rider would like to pass. The sound of a bicycle bell is too crude, too insistent.
It is rare to see a balcony without some flowers in the corner. They are not there to enrich the lives of the residents, but to give a little lift to passersby.
"Beverley Hills Polo Club" says a man's t-shirt. I wonder if there is such an entity and if so, why does this man so identify himself. Does he expect people to come up to him and introduce themselves as fellow polo enthusiasts?