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Below, propped against the wall, is something that suggests the bottom of an inexpensive electronic typewriter of the sort manufactured by Brother.
A box of Chinese candy, a cat-brush, a flea-collar.
THIRTEEN. TV SOUND
Close-up of the contents of the shelf.
The red stereo AM/FM cassette-player, its chrome ante
To the right of the LX-43: a rigid cardboard pack of Lucky Strike non-filters and a Pokka coffee tin with the top neatly removed (to serve as an ashtray?).
On the cardboard bulkhead above these things are taped up two sentimental postcards of paintings of kittens playing. "Cat collection" in a cursive font.
Below these are glued (not taped) three black-and-white photographs.
#1: A balding figure in jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt squats before an earlier, unpainted version of this structure.
One of the cartons seems to be screened with the word "PLAST—". He is eating noodles from a pot, using chopsticks.
#2: The "alley" between the shelters. The balding man looks up at the camera. Somehow he doesn't look Japanese at all. He sits cross-legged among half-a-dozen others. They look Japanese. All are engrossed in something, perhaps the creation of murals.
#3: He squats before his shelter, wearing molded plastic sandals. His hands grip his knees. Now he looks entirely Japanese, his face a formal mask of suffering.
Curve of square tiles.
How long has be lived here?
With his cats, his guitar, his neatly folded blankets?
Dolly back.
Hold on the cassette player.
Behind it, almost concealed, is a Filofax.
Names.
Numbers.
Held as though they might be a map, a map back out of the underground.