In 1979, when David “of the wandering Schlange” (German for snake) would periodically ooze off to find, as he called it, “futon-filler”, it behooved his invited guest to politely dismiss his odd figure of speech and praise his hospitality, if not his delicacy. Life in Kyoto was lonely at times for the single philosopher, however charming his roommate. “Don’t wait up for me, Watson,” he would say over his shoulder as he chose one from his wall of hats, “I might come back late.”
