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The old man told me that he hiked up Mount Takao - where we both were at the time - every Sunday to sit among its trees and paint. He had just finished his creation for the day. I asked him whether he gave his paintings titles and he said that he did. Today’s painting was called: woman. When I asked for a peek, I noticed that it was a painting of only a completely green pine tree (even its bark was green).

***

From a distance, I spied one of the lottery-ticket sellers in Kokubunji Station in a sweater identical to one I had lost one or two years ago. I also noticed that his hair and build were both similar to mine. I did not get a closer look at his face as I was in a rush to catch my train that was leaving in less than a minute. While on the train I wondered to myself whether the reason I didn’t slow down for a closer look was just to catch the train in time (the next train would leave in 4 minutes) or was I just afraid of discovering that I have a double who sells lottery tickets in a station far from where I came.

***

When alone, I often go to a restaurant where other people - who are also alone - go to eat. I went there earlier this evening for a meal. There was only one other customer at the time, who was dressed in a grey suit with a grey expression on his face to match - this despite him being quite young. I didn’t pay much attention to him but a few minutes later, I notice that he, or rather someone who looked just like him, came walking out of the restroom dressed in a dream-blue suit and a big smile on his face headed towards where the customer’s seat was. Since the seat was empty, I assume that the customer must have gone into the restroom when I wasn’t paying attention to him. The reason I think that the two men are completely different people is because I had a different impression from them, despite them having identical faces. The young waitress standing by the door did not seem to notice what had happened. I couldn’t help imagining the man in the grey suit imprisoned somewhere in the restroom of this restaurant for lonely people. He would probably not scream out for help because he is used to being lonely and nothing much has changed for him. In the meantime, I feel uneasy thinking that there is an army of substitutes-of-us-lonely-customers preparing to wage war on defenceless Tokyoites. Needless to say, I did not go to the restroom on my way out to wash my hand; I did not want to risk meeting someone in there who looked like me, readying to take over my seat in the train of life.