In my neighborhood you'll find: one mom and pop sushi stand which includes a grown young man son in a crisp white apron, t-shirt and paper hat who smiles and waves shyly each time I pass. There is one antique and miniature green tea shop with sliding paper doors run by a partially senile or at least very forgetful old man who each time I stop in and re-establish myself as an American, gets out a dusty old box and proceeds to show me a collection of yellowed letters from his daughter, some kind of doctor in the US. Using his crooked old pointer, he puts particular emphasis on her Pennsylvanian address, sometimes showing me her corresponding entry in his own dusty address book. Across from Tea Man a family runs a rice shop inside what doubles as their living room. There are, of course, several small fish & produce markets each with their own cast of characters. The fish guys are haughty and intimidating and each morning I see fresh blood on the cutting board and their gnarly hooks out front. The market directly in front of my building and my main one stop shop tries to get me to buy roasted potatoes most mornings as I go to work. "Smell these things, would ya, they smell delicious!" Andrew tells me they say, in his funny old Japanese person voice. I grocery shop there every Monday afternoon and occasionally buy some of their fresh flowers as a treat to myself. Recently discovered and heralded as a long since forgotten prince, is one stoic old man who makes and sells tofu as well as seems to ooze it's powdery ingredients from every wrinkle and crevice on his body. Eyelids, ears, hair, wrinkles, wrists, fingernails; we call him The Tofu Weeper. There are several tiny bars within walking distance, more often than not run by someones grandmother in an apron and shuffling about tatami floors in slippers and asking us in Japanese "Are you sure you can eat that, because sometimes you can't eat that?" The closet and the best izakaya happens run by a tiny, smiley and thoroughly adorable young man name Yohei who serves whole grilled fish and has excellent taste in sake and music. Inside Yohei's place, which is more or less a shack dolled up with kitsch there is always a timeless-looking iron kettle boiling over an open charcoal flame. There are a few friendly regulars here and it just so happens to be frequented by one of the freshest, classiest Japanese gents I've ever met who calls himself Mark. Mark has rosy cheeks, pops his collar and appears to be some kind of local show runner/councilman. The first night we met Mark he was with his buddies, Stone Gate and Pond Digger. But those two are another story. Around these parts there is also one very mysterious looking and striking loner type who stalks the streets dressed in a tan trench with the most majestic and velvety jet black hair, the longest and most luxurious I've ever seen on a man or a woman. Andrew perfectly dubbed this person the Gender Ambiguous Mohican. GAM lives across the street from the market, keeps a beautiful garden and though we have never spoken, can be seen it seems, almost everywhere I go.

Finally, to my delight, this week a Sri Lankan carryout has opened in between Yohei's place and mine, across from Tea Man and next door to Rice Folks and while it seems curious and more than a little out of place, so must I. To me it just makes this place called Sanbancho all the more magical.