Food and the City

I’m collecting places like bruises, and Kumamoto is teaching me how to hold them. I want to swallow this city whole—its bars, its noodle shops, the grease-stained counters where old men nurse their drinks like they’re the last thing keeping them tethered. I want every corner that smells like soy and sweat, the kind of sweat that comes from standing over boiling broth all day.