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.

59

Early yesterday morning there was the tiniest glint of sunlight on the black plastic of the rice cooker as I circled around it. Last night there was a smiling, waning crescent moon set against a dark sky and the soft purple glow of the bug lamps along the running path. Today the kitchen soap bottle is refracting long green streaks across the countertop. Tomorrow when the moldy zombies emerge from the hospital next door there will also be red and green. The sequence is as follows: yellow, black, white, black, purple, black, green, white, red, green; yet the implications are inscrutable.