-An Indian woman in a purple tracksuit running frantically through a crowded business district with a McDonald’s bag in her hand.
-A Japanese lady in her 20s kneeling down intently to take several cell phone pictures of the semi-stray cats lounging around outside my office.
-This sign. Because apparently, Indian curry just isn’t authentic unless served to you by a small Negro.
-A middle-aged salaryman so completely blitzed by 6:30 pm that on the train back home, he was grunting to himself and wobbling unsteadily while attempting to peer through one eye at a scorchingly pornographic newspaper detailing this week’s must-visit red light districts.
-A man who boarded my train, sat down, remained seated for exactly the one stop it took him to reach his destination, then walked three doors down into the next cabin to exit. Rather than simply doing so via the door directly in front of him.
-The gentleman with the long, bleach-blonde hair I passed on my lunchtime walk who seemed genuinely surprised by my gaze, which said that quite frankly he wasn’t fooling anyone in regards to gender, despite his elaborate makeup and very nice if somewhat unseasonably colorful dress.
I’ve said it before, and I suspect I shall say it again.
This place is weird.