Hello winter sun. Konnichiwa 7 o’clock. Come out but wrap up, baby it’s cold outside. You have places to go and no one you know. Your steps are dots and lines on a moving map. Make sure you can retrace them. Only you can know the way back, and your hands are cold. ‘I have donuts to find today,’ you say. ‘Old clothes to try, art to touch.’ The cafe is hidden among crooked paths, wandering men and weathered streets. But you find it. You settle in. The coffee is ok, the song they’re playing is better. It’s just the…
