Last chance to buy something to read. Newsstand on train platform.

natasha nakamura's diary

Paris is a fine city, of course. Triumphant architecture, a lyrical language, sharp people with character and wit, and lots of cafes for talking and reading and writing. But Paris is small, and after a while the sweep of the architecture at every turn becomes oppressive. In Paris, nothing ever happens by accident, although sometimes people pretend it does. And the French have their own brand of arrogance, more sophisticated and so more provocative than down-home American arrogance, but still tiring in its demand for attention. (In Tokyo, arrogance is very bad form.)

So: back to Tokyo. Can't be blamed for wanting to come home, at least for a while.