Suzuki Keiko is turning 22. Her father died of cancer and she manage to secretly steal some of the remaining bones from the crematorium. Keiko is alone and thinking a lot. In three weeks she will be 22. She decides to chronicle these three weeks. She decides to chronicle every hour, every minute, possibly every second. Time passes. Time passes as she speaks. She speaks of time passing. She counts the seconds as they pass. Her 22nd birthday is nearing. Time is still going. She can say or do whatever. Time doesn’t care, it just goes on, with the same exact, precise, boring rhythm and pace.  Continue reading →