Dream #20220111

A tribute to an oshiruko can.

Time flies in my life in Japan, on this Kappabashi street.
And even if there are some things
I could appreciate less and less here in tokyo…

…Some little sources of happiness will always stay gold!

Among them, the pleasure to drink in winter a – w a r m – can of Oshiruko (kind of thick and sweet soup made of adzuki red beans)

While i’m waiting for my clothes to be dry at the local coin laundry

More or less consciously, I rarely have the required amount of 100¥ens coins I need for the laundry…

… So, I need to make the change on a 1000¥ens bill thanks to the vending machine .

Once, i have my 100¥ens coins, I can finally start quickly my laundry:
– 30 minutes
– maximum temperature

Except for washable diapers, nothing bad happened like this.

That’s how THIS magical warm can, limited to winter season, arrived in my frozen hands.

And now,
serious things can finally start.

We can quietly focus on the soft warm feeling, irradiating from this metallic cylinder, spreading -s l o w l y- to all of my fingers.

Opening of the can, a light smoke starts to spread around.

The smell starts delicately to tickle the tip of my frozen nose.

I’ve removed my mask, and I’m at the always opened entrance door.
I know that some Coin Laundry have a sign where it’s written
“Do not eat”/”Do not Drink”

In this one, there isn’t any sign, but I can’t help to feel a bit guilty…
a bit like the waste I’m creating with this can,
a bit like these electrical vending machine, powered 24/24 for such a few bystanders.

And the smell is completely filling my nostrils,
so that I’m stopping to feel guilty with the first sip.

The texture is creamy,

the warmth is comforting,

the sugar taste is almost like caramel, perfectly fitting with

the adzuki beans pieces, melting.

I’m picturing myself floating,
I’m meditating on the can contact with my lips;
I’m not happy… I’m happiness.

And suddenly, a lost memory goes back to surface, I’m thinking… Is the top of the can really clean ?

A friend of the aunt of the father of an acquaintance told me that people died after drinking cans with pee of rats on it.
Thinking how serious is my source and the Japanese reputation about hygiene, I decide to fill a new sip of happiness on this weird thought.
(but yeah, it will not prevent me to google this when I’ll come back home.)

And I’m thinking, hum… it could be really good to make a comic from this, focusing on the instant, the sensations…
“On a cold winter night, waiting laundry to be dry with a view on Tokyo SkyTree Tower”
Is there anything more poetic than this?

A lot of things you will say….
But really it’s quite nice !
Nevertheless, I’m wondering if I’m not pushing this too much…

Yes, I’m happy to be here, to be alive, to feel all of these, and I want to share this happiness.

But, will not I become a simple little capitalist soldier?
Won’t this comic  be transformed into a perfect advertisement for this drink?
How many readers of such a comic will want to recreate this experience?
How many waste will be created because of me?
How much money will Oshiruko makers can make thanks to this?*

(Spoiler alert: more than me publishing a comic.)

Shit! this twisted system has even corrupted my inspiration…
And there is no coincidence… it’s exactly at this time that sugar calls me one last time in order to stop this flow of though.

After half of a dozen sips, I put the can in its dedicated trashbox.
Kind of stupid trashbox by the way, I have the feeling that they want to give us the feeling we are doing waste sorting.
But obviously, both holes lead to the same bag. Maybe a simple question of specific brand size?

I don’t really know, and unfortunately, I don’t have my liquid sugar to silence this last though.

The sound of the laundry machine is resonating.
Impatient to open it and discover my clothes so warm and “meccha fuwafuwa”.

I’m looking all around me, this rainy day has finally erased the last snow from few days ago…

But it doesn’t prevent the hot and cold contrast to invade me:
blue all around me,
red and warm inside of me.

It becomes suddenly so obvious ; the adzuki pretty purple color can’t be a coincidence.