Down and Out in Yokohama





On a lazy Sunday, such as this one, and as I lay on this couch watching Apocalypse Now for the nth time (for the quotables; and being made from Conrad's Heart of Darkness), I'm reminded of similar Sundays in a quiet Japan. Recovering from Fridays and Saturdays, we seemed to be out of wretched slumbers on Sunday mornings; awake and staggering from major metropolitan cities headed to our various homes in rustic towns.

Whether we came from Tokyo, or Yokohama we were always headed back, via Metro express, to the hill houses at Yokosuka or Atsugi to nurse our hangovers. But notwithout eradicating our collective hunger over a beef bowl and miso soup. We spent the weekend quenching whatever thirsts we'd ganered all week; and our realization of however wild a weekend it had been, was felt over a silent beef bowl breakfast.
There were mishaps in the misadventures though, for example, a fellow I knew, couldn't find a single article of clothing as he woke up in a motel one morning. Some were more trajic cases that involved arrests or hearing stories of drunks who'd been beaten by local Japanese gangs (certainly not the Yakuza clan, certainly not!) I'm glad that I don't have wild stories like that to tell, albeit I had some eventful nights.

Besides me there was my best friend Brent Jackson, my boy Diggs the fighter, Dukes (breath), Guy (rude boy), and a couple of cool white boys including Decker. Anyways, we slept in on Sundays not worried about wicked Mondays and rigorous work weeks. In my apartment in particular, I favored the couch in the living room down stairs, I'd be there with Lauren (or whoeverelse before she came around) watching a sophisticated asian action drama. Everyone else was either on the matress in the living room floor, or the various rooms, going back to sleep, and watching their respective tvs. Brent was always in the guest room with incense lit and loud Japanese music, smoking with his woman. It was a time to remember. The sunlight tried to seep in thru the wicker screen doors that overlooked the valley. We slept still, with o.j., chuhais, and kool cigaretts dispersed about the tables. We were all broke suckers that spent recklessly and enjoyed our weekends as if the last. On Sundays we rested and pretended nothing about it. We were down and out in a foreign land and all we had was the atmosphere: each other, beef bowl, and the futuristic facade of Japanese media.
DefJukies!!!!

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