When I checked my phone after work there was one missed call. I was almost certain I already knew who it was from, but I checked anyway. Matsu-san. Recently, the owner of the izakaya I’ve been visiting about once a week has been encouraging me to come more frequently. And by “encouraging,” I mean calling me a few times a week and saying, “Hey, Andrew, come to Kaze To Matsu tonight!”
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The 9 am bullet train to Tokyo was pretty crowded. Even in the smoking car the only open spots were sparsely scattered among the three-seat rows, sandwiched between slouched, drooling, or chain-smoking businessmen. When it became clear that we weren’t going to find seats together, and that standing might be preferable to the unpleasantry of sliding into separate middle seats, Mariko and I decided to hover in the open space between cars with the hope that something would open up.
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