characters in a film i watch on my way home

guy
skateboard
knee pads
mobile phone
running a red light
100307

aftermath

Secret Symphony

I drop off some hangers
Outside the store I walk
Up the sidewalk
A small boy and his mother
Walk in front of me
The boy brushes the fence with his hand
After this fence finishes
He has to touch the next one
He pulls his mothers arm so he can reach it

An old man with big TV glasses
And an orange bald head
And lips the hide
Throws water on his patio

A faint sound of a TV is heard
in a nearby apartment

I brush my hand on a fence
I imagine plastic cups
Hanging on a wall
During an earthquake
A car passes down the street

Now Im sitting in the Cafe
Ive finished being careful not to spill spaghetti
On my clothes
Jazz Music is playing
I slurp my cofee
A child makes loud noises
A couple of middle aged women are chatting about their Husbands
Every now and then the bell above the door jingles

The sax goes up and down the scales
Like a walrus waddling up to his apartment
At 9 pm after a day of hard work
A child makes sounds
An aluminum pan crashes
Someone stirs their Iced Latte with a straw
The cofee machine spins
The child wines
The woman ehhhs...
They laugh
A spoon hits a plate
The child da dub dahs
A waiter serves lunch
He apologizes for the wait
Knives and forks jangle plates
A newspaper is folded to the business page
An old guy rumbles
Looking the opposite way as he talks to his wife
Plates in the kitchen are separated for incoming customers
A fork hits a plate
A straw stirs an ice drink
The sax fights like a boat in a whirl pool
The child "da da da da"
The women laugh
Cups jangle in different parts of the room
"Irashimase!"
The bell above the door jingles
The child "ha ha ha "
"A wy ke a why ke"
"ii yo ii yo"
"Majide"
"He he he"
A young girl stands twirling her bag
The child "Da Ki Ta a ma Ka"
"Ow Ow ha ite"
The sax mumbles soft and low
Beep beep beep
An alarm goes off
A pizza is ready in the oven
A woman puts her wallet into a a bag
She takes her coat off
A young girl steps in shoes this way
Trays are ordered in a stack
"Date so so so"
The child "Ka Oh e"
The sax "Da da da du du duh"
"De da da dum"
Butter melts on an order of waffles next to me
The young girl steps this way again
Bags are put down
Coats are takin off
The air from the espresso machine blows into a cup of espresso
Sun rays hit my table
The man still reads his paper
A high heeled woman jangles her tray onto the table
Ans shuffles to her seat
I can see a young red glassed beige shirt woman in the mirror
On the other side of the cafe
An orange sweater womans arms dance while her friend nods her head
I cannot hear them at all
I smell some sweet aroma
Water washes dishes in the distance
A woman snaps open her cell phone
A woman twists pasta in a spoon
Forks are put onto a tray

For 50,000 Lunatic Fans (To be read after City Agents 001: Jack on the Corner)

★i don't know Jack. i've only heard the legends. But i think i met a few of his cousins, a few of his friends.

★He sat there, on the bricks, playing a steel guitar. He'd known Jack, not the best of friends, but they understood each other, they'd shared the stage. We stopped to listen. Folk, blues, rock as seen through a kaleidoscope of experiences the kind Bukowski wrote about, the kind Frost encouraged others to strive for. "I was back out in the East," he started, the last chord of his just finished song still resonating from his guitar. "Laying train tracks, now that's some hard work..." He played on, the occasional Samaritan tossing change into his guitars case. His voice was rough, but beautiful. He sang the blues not out of desire, but necessity. He told us about Bob Dylan. "You see, back in Bob's day people wanted a guitarist, they needed a guitarist," he cleared his throat, "you could play guitar for a living! Nowadays, it's like playing for a cup of coffee, if you're lucky..."

★Walking around drunk. Destination either forgotten or never really known. And there he is, sitting comfortably on a park bench, playing the accordion. He'd probably never even heard of Jack, but he'd been searching for him. i toss a bill in his hat and keep walking. He offers a smile as his melodies carry me away like the gentle flow of the Seine.

★Two kids, teenagers, sitting outside the station. Playing guitars, singing, playing harmonica. They play pop ballads for their girlfriend-hopefuls. i grab my video camera and approach them. i ask them to play something on camera, they ask me what, i ask them to play something original. They look at each other in confusion and surprise. After a pause of hesitation, they start playing an ultra-popular j-pop ballad (the third time i'd heard it played in this location). i sit and listen and watch and record. When they finish i give them ￥500, and pray for their paths to cross Jack's.

★We approach a Picasso museum in Barcelona, the streets lined with historic beauty. Just another block, or so. A melody appears in the distance. He sits there with his guitar, on the stoop of a deserted building, creating worlds of infinite beauty with every note.　Jack lays his head in the grass and closes his eyes, the sun lightly shinning through his eyelids, the Spaniard's melody carrying him off to sleep.

My Room on a Street

Outside my door
I am on my way to the station
I ring a bell on a bicycle(1)
I knock three times on a white metal barricade(2)
My hand glides a green fence(3)
Then a white one(4)
I open and close a red mail box(5)
I brush a red gridded fence(6)

My Room on a Street (verse 2)

High up on the electric wires a bird sings(7)
Erikos boots clack on the sunny asphalt(8)
I open and close a rusty old mail box(9)
My shoes step on a metal sewer grate(10)
I use my toe and make a zipping noise(11)
I step on a loose cinder block hiding a storm drain(12)

My Room on a Street (verse 3)

I tap aluminum pipes that run a long a building(13)
and a pole carrying an irrelevant road sign(14)
I brush a black car parking gate(15)
On my left a construction site(16)
A man talks inside his dust mask
I can hear the drilling of drills
And the banging of hammers on steel
I knock on wood(17)
I step on a loose cinder block hiding a storm drain(18)