Taro Hokkyo’s
End of the dog race

The rowdiness did not stop today in the port city. Opening the door made of black iron, Giorgio returned to his room. He walked on the wooden floor, which was covered with a fake wood grain. The floor creaked with each step. He sat down in a black cloth-covered chair in front of an old desk. He touched his beard, which was growing a little longer, with the tip of his finger. He could hear the sound of a steam whistle coming from the blue ocean.

Giorgio touched his beard again with his palm. He no longer wanted to participate in the rigged dog race, with its pre-determined winners and losers. There was no end to the crowd of fools who were trying to take the bait in the dubious future of dreams and hopes. A work should be evaluated for what it is, not for what blind schemers want it to be.

Giorgio perused the classics. The history of intrigues and struggles had strangled him. The medals and the names in history are a lie. When you die, you will no longer be proud of it, and your consciousness will no longer exist. War and pollution have come so close to collapsing the stratosphere that very few are truly concerned about it. He closed the book.

Giorgio put on his hat and sunglasses. “I don’t care what happens to me. I’m not a worldliness guy. True love cannot be bought with money. It is enough for me to rejoice in the life I have here today”. He creaked the floor again and opened the door. In the harsh light of the hot wind, burning his skin, he cast one solid dark shadow under his feet.

  • Know more about Author

1963 born in Osaka, Japan

1985Waseda University

1989(?)Dropped out of Waseda University due to illness

1998 Rekitei Shinei Award(Japan)

2021 Arab Golden Planet Award

2022 Russia Telekov Reading Prize declined

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