When I moved to Toronto, Ontario in my mid-twenties, for the first time I was living in a city with Japanese food stores.
The one closest to me was called Furuya, a little place on Dundas Street West in the middle of Chinatown.
Shopping there let me feel Japanese, although I must not have looked like that to the cashier,
who week after week addressed me in English.
Twenty-seven thirty-five, please.
Sixteen sixty-two, please.
Fifteen sixty-one, please.
One dollar and thirty cents, please. Do you have anything smaller than a twenty?
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