When you bend it / You can’t mend it
If you never hear from me again, you can assume that my neighbors decided they couldn’t take any more Linda seeping through the walls, broke down my door, and offed me. I’ve been trying to propitiate them by consistently skipping over that squalling, momentum-killing version of “Dark End of the Street” toward the end of Side 1, but Tokyo is a stressful place, and you never know what will be the last straw for people.
Get well soon.
The neighbors won’t come over to kill you, unless you live in East Shinjuku. Annoy the Koreans in Kabuki-cho and you’re toast.
My fear is that there’s someone in the building who’s unemployed. Whenever you read of some gruesome crime here, dollars to doughnuts, it was committed by an unemployed person. Not that I seriously think anyone in my building is going to kill me, obviously.
And, no, I don’t live in East Shinjuku.