126.5

53

In Tokyo we are now into the somber business of fall. Tonight in New York you are wearing masks and dressed as ghosts and rotting zombies. I can’t imagine the International Date Line that separates us. On a map it is sharp, like the folds of a well-made paper airplane. I try to see it cut through the water, yet it blends into the surroundings and submerges deep into an undersea world populated by glowing creatures with fangs, visibly pulsing innards, and fantastically ugly faces.