Rain, Cigarettes, Coffee & Persig

I awoke this morning to the sound of falling rain. Though I had a number of plans to fill my day, none of them really accounted for the possibility of a relentless downpour. Nothing better to do, I thought, than to head to Mister Donut with a good book to enjoy the almost painful luminescence of bright flourescents, sugary-sweet donuts (Japanese-style, of course), cigarettes, good music, and free-refills of "american-style" drip coffee. I sat there reveling in my dry surroundings, reading "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance", until the staff made it clear that I had over-stayed my welcome. I arrived home to a mailbox full of postcards and letters, many of which my former roommate David had posted from Shizuoka. *Posted, what a British term.*

I now sit in my apartment writing this entry, drinking red wine, listening to Green Day and the monotonous yet meditative pitter-patter of falling rain. Did you know that in Japan you can buy Carlo Rossi in a regular-sized wine bottle? I didn't, for those of you who might be concerned, but the option is available for those poor souls who didn't learn their lesson freshman year of college; for those who don't know any better.

I have to say, I feel a sense of contentment that I haven't managed to find in a long time. I'm sure it's been there all along the journey, hidden behind the distractions of nostalgia and the impending and unknowable future. Shit, it sounds like I've been reading too much Persig, waxing a bit too philisophical for my liking. Who, by the way, had the gall to list that book as non-fiction? It is a good read though.

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(What's the html code for that Jesse?)