*about the black spiral

Well, that’s true, said Mr. Tanaka, plucking those translucent strings to make road.

The red-orange fin texture of the floor is fading, like water slowly seeping downstairs, and the smell of wood is starting to emerge.

The shape of the cheekbones, for example, is ugly, old-fashioned emo.

I’m trying to recall the bar lighting in Mr. Watanabe’s cafe.
A pale gold vertical rectangle.

It was a square spiral. Mr. Tanaka pointed out.

As I mentioned before the relationship between the tone formed by the pulling of the embryo and the way the tone is read is vertical, so is what we see and the experience of where the barman is.
I’ve been trying to think of the barman’s name.


Mr. Watanabe puts the blade away, wraps it in flannel, puts it in a wooden compartment, lets it hover, holds the gap open with his index and middle fingers to observe the break, the smell goes from the floor upwards, divides the room into three parts.

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