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  • Laying on the floor of my hot apartment, near my open balcony door, I heard the low rumble of an old truck slowly rattling up the narrow road. It was blasting a crackly, repetitive jingle from a megaphone and I thought this can only equal one thing on a hot night in May. Ice cream truck! Obviously. So, with a fist full of coins I tore towards the sound and found, to my surprise, not a line of sweet toothed children, but many old women from the neighborhood. And, not lining up for frozen sweets on a stick, but for Takoyaki. Fried octopus balls. 8 for 400 Yen. Summer is here.
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