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Noam Chomsky

May 8, 2011
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I was watching a sushi chef blow large bubbles using a bubble-wand and five litre bottle of mixture. I was sitting on the stairs across from him. We were outside the back of the Toshima City Office in Ikebukuro. It was overcast.

One of the bubbles caught the attention of my old student, Lin, who was running past. Lin is Korean. She was wearing a red Chinese dress. She chased the bubble. She looked up at me after successfully popping the bubble.

She looked puzzled for a second, then realized who I was.

“You’re Andrew,” she said.

“Yes, hello Lin,” I said.

“Did you know that you used to teach at English Now?”

“Yes, I know that.”

“Wow, it’s good that I saw you. Any longer and I might have forgotten who you were. I have to run away now. I’m Noam Chomsky.”

She ran away down the street.

I looked back at the sushi chef. He was now wearing a salary-man suit. He wasn’t blowing bubbles anymore. He was smoking. He looked depressed.

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