Laundry Day

Laundry Day in New York City: the big schlep. Apartments don't come with washing machines in the City, so laundry must be hauled -- to the basement if you're lucky, a neighborhood laundromat if you're not. Here's hoping a machine is free. Measure, pour, pay. Count ceiling tiles, thumb a book, head to the corner

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Toire

The internet cafe is not free. There is, apparently, a sign above the computers that says something like "Free internet when you buy 1 drink! 1 hour maximum" but, of course, this, I couldn't read. My new neighbors, Bob and Sean, translated it for me when they bounced over to said cafe, ready to get

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watashi wa gaijin desu

Yatta for a free internet cafe just about 10 minutes from my apartment in Sakiio!!! Free is dangerous, though, because for the past 48 sans-intanetto hours i crossed a continent and an enormous ocean while nursing a raging head cold, got settled into my teeny, tiny apato, strolled down the main street in search of

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