sakamoto 
Walking along a deserted shopping street on the outskirts of Shinjuku, I passed the open roller-door of a shuttered electrical shop. Peering in, I spied, instead of household appliances, a display of oil paintings. It didn’t look like an exhibition, but I went in. An elderly lady appeared from the rear and told me that since shutting her store, she had attended a local art class, and had been painting in whatever manner she liked. Her work was technically immature and at the same time, so fascinatingly bad, I asked her if I could buy some. She looked a little surprised, but agreed to give me a few. I wonder what happened to her. When I walked the same way some time later, the whole area had been redeveloped. I couldn’t even guess where the electrical shop had been anymore.