She grew through the cracks, a dandelion on a sidewalk, a burst of inspiration fancied by passing children before being cut back, squashed and yanked by those calling her merely a weed.
Short-lived but hardy, laying seeds so that we may recognize the simple beauty of simply being here now.
Lee DeAmali is doing okay today.
Okamoto’s eyes fix on the silvery gravel covering the park where he sits on a bench, briefcase resting against one leg, can of beer in hand.
Commuters stream by into the station, central Tokyo bound. He won’t be joining them.
Like yesterday morning, and he still hasn’t told his wife.
Rob Goss is a Tokyo-based writer. See more at tokyofreelance.com