105

I dart into a bathroom at the northwest corner of Ueno station and hang my three hundred yen, clear plastic umbrella on the peg to the right of the urinal – the deliciously subtle notched aluminum peg that is to the right of the urinal. What a surprise. I would like to meet the designer who made the decision and campaigned enthusiastically for a triangular wedge sliced from the top of a circular peg. Employing such a minimal, yet bold intervention is enough to cause one to stand stationary in awe despite the possible misinterpretations of loitering at a urinal. Further, the missing triangle is positioned precisely one triangle's width away from the front of the peg and two triangle widths from the wall from which it protrudes. The depth of the notch is precisely one third of the peg's diameter. These decisions, coupled with the material choice of dull, brushed aluminum provide a contentment possibly only rivaled by the happiness of total bowel evacuations taking place nearby. I am in love with this missing triangular notch, where it came from, what it left behind, and where it went. The fact that the surface from where the wedge has been removed is smooth and shiny as compared to the peg's dull, brushed surface creates a feeling of unexpected fulfillment not unlike cutting a perfect slice of birthday cake. When I complete my reverie and am finally ready to leave I reach for my umbrella and it is gone. I am stunned yet again. What is one supposed to do in such a situation? I try to remember that this missing umbrella is only one umbrella lost today, which is nowhere near my record of four in one day. Perhaps the accidental thief is a lefty, or an intentionally ambidextrous thief, or in liege with the peg designer. Still, it is a small price for such an experience, although I have a feeling that this particular bathroom will cause me to lose many umbrellas in the future.

94

While standing in the hallway trying to salvage a thoroughly mangled three hundred yen umbrella ($3.37 USD), a crisp, white slip of paper – again – came through the mail slot in the front door without warning. I was immediately tempted to use the umbrella to hook the person on the other side of the door through the mail slot and hold them until I could see their face, but I thought that it could possibly be a zombie in search of innards to feast on, in which case my actions would not only be rude, but a potentially tragic mistake. The floor in the hallway would become soiled with zombie goo, as even Japanese zombies don't remove their shoes when entering a home. Moreover, even if this zombie did politely leave their shoes at the entrance I would still have to contend with the putrid ooze and rot emerging from the filthy zombie socks. In the final analysis, a polite zombie is more problematic than an everyday zombie.

8

Sometimes cats in Takinogawa will use a plant as an umbrella. Sometimes cats in Takinogawa will use a plant as a stylish accessory for their evening out on the town. Typhoons, torrential downpours, misty drizzles, or even weather forecasts indicating the slightest possibility of humidity should not be considered a factor in your assessment of the situation. Feline usage of foliage is a complicated matter and goes far beyond weather predictions. Inclement weather systems can be merely coincidental with the cat's headwear decision.