ohashi station

If the grand urban space in front of Ohashi Station is a grand urban cluster of nothingness but lights and signs that advertise an Italian restaurant with tiny bottles of Tabasco on each table I'd rather remember the spinach pasta that was served to me from that same urban space, further south, near the water and the tower and the dome, or is it further west, or east? If the grand urban space in front of Ohashi Station is a cluster of bicycles stacked up against one another then I suppose I'd like to sit on the curb and watch these wheels tumble... then they shall all evaporate instantaneously except one, one that resembles the bicycle I had, the bicycle that was stolen from me in front of the Hokuo Bakery is now here before me as I stare at this stolen object, feeling lost in direction and feeling a lost of something so dear and nostalgic. The bicycle is on its side. The frame is bent ever so slightly. The front wheel is spinning. I reach out to touch the wheel with my finger. The wheel stops spinning. My fingertip is blackened.