There is a man....

that sits out front of the bike shop every morning, without fail. We call him the "bike master," a title I find pretty damn cool. He greets me every morning with a smile, a good morning (or ohayo goazaimasu,) and some comment, which varies, but which I NEVER understand. I'd like to think that he sits there, on that stump in front of the empty shop window, waiting for me to pass, as if to signify the beginning of a new day. However, I think he sits there waiting for business, encouraging people to break their bikes in his presence to keep him within the realm of profit. I've never seen anyone in the store, outside of the store, or even mention the store. In fact, I've never seen a bike in the store either. I'm tempted to kick the crap outta my bike, claim I was mugged and attacked by pre or post, for that matter, pubescent Japanese boys...either would be about my size with the arm strength of Twiggy...just to give him business. It's not like I pay for the bike anyway. Let the Board of Education handle it. If they can afford to pay me, pretty handsomely I think, to sit here and write this, then they can afford to give the poor old quasi-toothless, grinning bike master some work, some sense of purpose and necessity. I'm willing to go without a day's salary, or more, just to help him out. It'd be like paying him to wait for me on that stump every morning.

Nice old man.

In other news, I'm headed to Kumamoto tonight. My first trip out of the prefecture in a long time. Let's hope I don't end up in Hiroshima again. Dre says it easy, two train transfers and a tram. Let's hope she's right. Two transfers I can handle, it's the seven transfers between trains, buses and ferries that I just can't seem to grasp. I may never hit up Nonokoshima again...cuz I'll never find it again.