Reading Resources for English language learners

The Same in Japanese

Part 2

It's 7:30 at night. I leave the office and walk toward Shinjuku train station. It's close to my office, but I have to go through Box City. The homeless people live there. A man sits in a Panasonic TV box. He takes off his shoes and put s them on again—the smell! He wipes his hand on his dirty pants, then takes his shoes off, and puts them on again. And again. Another person sits in an opened-up Sanyo refrigerator box. Inside, three small boxes make a bookcase. I wonder what books are in the bookcase. Would the homeless read Hemingway?

I’m walking and thinking about books. Then I notice: there are hundreds of homeless walking in front of me in a long line. I've never seen them like this. Usually they just stay in their boxes. I cover my mouth and nose and walk quickly—the smell!! I try not to look at them, but they're in my way. Their hair is dirty, their clothes old and gray. The smell is terrible! I feel sick. I can't get to the station. I'm almost crying. Why now? Why are they here now? What do I do? I can't walk through them. Oh, no!

Then I notice the man at the front of the line.

He sits on a broken chair on a board with wheels. The others push him. His hair is strange, like one of those fat sumo wrestlers. A bamboo stick is at his side like a sword. He looks like a king or a samurai—a dirty, broken samurai. He looks at me and our eyes meet. For some reason, I calm down a bit. He's old. He's sick, dying maybe. I feel sick.

Someone walks between us and I lose sight of him. The line of homeless people passes and I can finally get into the station. I go to the washroom and wash my hands. I start to cry so I hide in a toilet stall with the door shut. When I stop crying, I come out and wash my hands again. And again.
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When I get home, I take a shower. But I still remember the smell, the sick feeling, and the samurai’s eyes.

I call my boyfriend. “Busy?”


“I’m sorry. I have to go home tonight.”

“But I feel sick. Please come.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. Sorry…” I put down the phone, sit down and cry again.

Part 3