A man and his car

This is an entry on D's journal in 1995, when we lived in Japan.
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There's a guy in our building who is very neurotic about his car. K and I sometimes see him in the parking lot at night, just sitting in the car. Other times he obsessively polishes it. This morning at 7:00 am, I was standing on the balcony looking at the sun rise when I saw him come out of the building and approach his car. Then he stopped dead.

On the hood of the car was a tremendous white blot of bird shit. He must have stood there a full thirty seconds, taking in the horror of it. Finally he opened the car door, took out a rag and cleaned it off, but not before first wiping the dew off of all windows and the side mirrors.

It's little moments like these that for some reason, really make my day.