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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=423252" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In January</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=423252" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">i could walk carefree<br>in tokyo streets and lanes<br>in october, november and early december <br>in my T-Shirt treating it as spring but not january<br>when the temperature would suddenly take a dip<br>like an olympic swimmer with fiery ambition <br>plunging into the pool<br>the chill bites into the most sensitive parts<br>near the chest, setting the bodice trembling, <br>teeth hitting each other the way dad shunts his soroban beads <br>shaking like the winter breeze on and off, on and off<br>throughout the lanes and streets<br>laughters, songs trail the ears <br>on and off, on and off as the izakaya door<br>opens to either welcome or sends off some customers<br>the cold and loneliness of the streets<br>make these drinking houses<br>feel like a happy family where children and parents<br>crowd together for their nightly fun<br>january in tokyo could either be warm or cold<br>for lovers to cling closer to each other in their walk<br>for tired managers to go for atsukan to warm up their nerves<br>for the homeless, everything feels so colder than they should be<br>their hearts take a dip each time they hear laughter and songs<br>from the izakaya </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=423252" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>inspired by</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=423252" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">In January</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=423252" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Only one cell in the frozen hive of night<br>is lit, or so it seems to us: <br>this Vietnamese café, with its oily light, <br>its odors whose colorful shapes are like flowers.<br>Laughter and talking, the tick of chopsticks.<br>Beyond the glass, the wintry city<br>creaks like an ancient wooden bridge.<br>A great wind rushes under all of us.<br>The bigger the window, the more it trembles.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=John+Tiong+Chunghoo">John Tiong Chunghoo</a></strong></div>