pothos
Sunday. Walked up to Asukayama Park. The cherries are mostly done, green leaves coming through the last pink, which Japanese has a word for (hazakura, leaf-cherry). Still crowded. A man was selling grilled squid on a stick, and the little tram rattled past below the hill on the Toden Arakawa Line, the last streetcar line in Tokyo.
On the way back I bought a pothos at the home centre. 498 yen. The pothos is the only plant that ever survived Daisuke's flat, so I'm trusting the species.
It's on a wooden fruit crate under the balcony window, where it gets the morning sun. The room looks like someone lives in it now.
Dinner was karaage from the konbini, eaten on the metal stairs because it was warm out. Hoshino-san came back from somewhere with a shopping trolley and said "good evening" and then, looking at my karaage, "good evening" again.