Change. And the sense of life, its routines, familiar faces and places, sounds that have become a part of me, as grains of sand slipping through an hourglass. Bare feet squeaking, clinging to the glass wall, brushing the last grains of sand from between my toes. Grains that once were frustrations, loud speaker mini vans running through town advertising noise pollution and rules whose senses evaded me, impossible sidewalks, I watch drop below me and I feel nostalgic. Good-bye tatami mats and green tea ice cream, the hypnotic buzz and whir of cicadas, the computer friendly voices that speak from parking boxes and hidden speakers, the happy jingles in the supermarket, the smell and taste of late night ramen or okonomiyaki after a round at the bars. Farewell tiled roofs, bamboo groves, hilltop temples, Shinto
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