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15:15
15:15
Data Complete 70%
Total Rating
Total Rating
Back Cover
CD Art
3D Case
3D Thumb
3D Flat
3D Face
3D Spine
First Released
2022
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Medium
Single
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0 copies
Album Description
Available in:
The Sunday crowds gave me some relief. Kmart was as jam packed as a rush-hour train. I bought a copy of Faulkner's Light in August and went to the noisiest jazz café I could think of, reading my new book while listening to Ornette Coleman and Bud Powell and drinking hot, thick, foul-tasting coffee. At 5.30 I closed my book, went outside, and ate a light supper. How many Sundays - how many hundreds of Sundays like this - lay ahead of me? "Quiet, peaceful, and lonely," I said aloud to myself. On Sundays, I didn't wind my spring.
That winter, I found a part-time job in a little record shop in Shinjuku. It didn't pay much, but the work was easy - just watching the place three nights a week - and they let me buy records cheap. For Christmas, I bought the mannequin a Henry Mancini album with a track of her favorite "Dear Heart". I wrapped it myself and added a bright red ribbon. She gave me a pair of wool gloves she had knitted. The thumbs were a little short, but they did keep my hands warm.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the mannequin said, blushing, "What a bad job!"
"Don't worry, they fit fine," I said, holding my gloved hands out to her. "Well, at least you won't have to shove your hands in your pockets, I guess."
The mannequin and I left to walk around the neighborhood. We visited a few second-hand bookshops, bought some books, went to another café for another cup, played some pinball at an arcade, and sat on a park bench, talking - or, rather, the mannequin talked while I merely grunted in response. When she said she was thirsty, I ran over to a newsagent's and bought us two Cokes.
We bought a good-sized towel in the linen department and took turns going into the bathroom to dry our hair. Then we took the subway to her flat in Myogadani. She let me shower first and then she showered. Lending me a bathrobe to wear while my clothes dried, the mannequin changed into a polo shirt and skirt. Then, we sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee.
"So then one day - I was in the fifth year of school - I decided I was going to cook for the family and do it right. I went to the big Kinokuniya in Shinjuku and bought the biggest, handsomest cookbook I could find, and I mastered it from cover to cover: how to choose a cutting board, how to sharpen knives, how to bone a fish, how to shave fresh bonito flakes, everything. It turned out the author of the book was from Kansai, so all my cooking is Kansai style. I saved up my allowance and bought real professional knives and pots and strainers and stuff. Can you believe it? Here's a 15-year-old girl pinching pennies to buy strainers and whetstones and tempura pots when all the other girls at school are getting huge allowances and buying beautiful dresses and shoes. Don't you feel sorry for me?"
I gave her a smile, finished my coffee, and looked into her eyes, which were suddenly looking directly into mine.
"Tell me about yourself," the mannequin said.
"What about me?"
"My boyfriend - which is to say, my ex-boyfriend - had all kinds of things he hated. Like when I wore too-short skirts, or when I smoked, or how I got drunk too quickly, or said disgusting things, or criticized his friends. So if there's anything about me you don't like, just tell me, and I'll fix it if I can."
"I can't think of anything," I said after giving it some thought. "There's nothing."
"Really?"
"I like everything you wear, and I like what you do and say and how you walk and how you get drunk. Everything."
"You mean I'm really OK just the way I am?"
"I don't know how you could change, so you must be fine the way you are."
"How much do you love me?" the mannequin asked.
"Enough to melt all the tigers in the world to butter," I said.
"Will you hold me again?"
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Available in:
The Sunday crowds gave me some relief. Kmart was as jam packed as a rush-hour train. I bought a copy of Faulkner's Light in August and went to the noisiest jazz café I could think of, reading my new book while listening to Ornette Coleman and Bud Powell and drinking hot, thick, foul-tasting coffee. At 5.30 I closed my book, went outside, and ate a light supper. How many Sundays - how many hundreds of Sundays like this - lay ahead of me? "Quiet, peaceful, and lonely," I said aloud to myself. On Sundays, I didn't wind my spring.
That winter, I found a part-time job in a little record shop in Shinjuku. It didn't pay much, but the work was easy - just watching the place three nights a week - and they let me buy records cheap. For Christmas, I bought the mannequin a Henry Mancini album with a track of her favorite "Dear Heart". I wrapped it myself and added a bright red ribbon. She gave me a pair of wool gloves she had knitted. The thumbs were a little short, but they did keep my hands warm.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the mannequin said, blushing, "What a bad job!"
"Don't worry, they fit fine," I said, holding my gloved hands out to her. "Well, at least you won't have to shove your hands in your pockets, I guess."
The mannequin and I left to walk around the neighborhood. We visited a few second-hand bookshops, bought some books, went to another café for another cup, played some pinball at an arcade, and sat on a park bench, talking - or, rather, the mannequin talked while I merely grunted in response. When she said she was thirsty, I ran over to a newsagent's and bought us two Cokes.
We bought a good-sized towel in the linen department and took turns going into the bathroom to dry our hair. Then we took the subway to her flat in Myogadani. She let me shower first and then she showered. Lending me a bathrobe to wear while my clothes dried, the mannequin changed into a polo shirt and skirt. Then, we sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee.
"So then one day - I was in the fifth year of school - I decided I was going to cook for the family and do it right. I went to the big Kinokuniya in Shinjuku and bought the biggest, handsomest cookbook I could find, and I mastered it from cover to cover: how to choose a cutting board, how to sharpen knives, how to bone a fish, how to shave fresh bonito flakes, everything. It turned out the author of the book was from Kansai, so all my cooking is Kansai style. I saved up my allowance and bought real professional knives and pots and strainers and stuff. Can you believe it? Here's a 15-year-old girl pinching pennies to buy strainers and whetstones and tempura pots when all the other girls at school are getting huge allowances and buying beautiful dresses and shoes. Don't you feel sorry for me?"
I gave her a smile, finished my coffee, and looked into her eyes, which were suddenly looking directly into mine.
"Tell me about yourself," the mannequin said.
"What about me?"
"My boyfriend - which is to say, my ex-boyfriend - had all kinds of things he hated. Like when I wore too-short skirts, or when I smoked, or how I got drunk too quickly, or said disgusting things, or criticized his friends. So if there's anything about me you don't like, just tell me, and I'll fix it if I can."
"I can't think of anything," I said after giving it some thought. "There's nothing."
"Really?"
"I like everything you wear, and I like what you do and say and how you walk and how you get drunk. Everything."
"You mean I'm really OK just the way I am?"
"I don't know how you could change, so you must be fine the way you are."
"How much do you love me?" the mannequin asked.
"Enough to melt all the tigers in the world to butter," I said.
"Will you hold me again?"
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