Where we live, the streets are almost empty of people. There are signs of people everywhere–clothes hanging on the balcony, children’s bicycles in the bike parking area, cars that appear in and disappear from the parking lot, the sounds of a child crying from his bath in the evening, furniture moving around in the apartment above us. But I’ve only seen neighbors in my apartment complex two times since we’ve been here: once in the morning when a man was leaving for work at the same time as me, and once on a weekend when a young mother was taking her toddler son out for a tricycle ride. Both bowed solemnly to me.
This is very different, of course, from Osaka proper, which explodes with people walking, bicycling, driving, at multiple levels below ground, on the ground, and in the air in sky walks, like an Escher painting.