About a week ago, as I was sitting down at my favorite bar I looked up to notice Wasa-chan’s cellphone sitting on the counter in pieces.  The story went that he was so angry at his girlfriend that he threw his phone as hard as he could, and the resulting mess was displayed on the counter for all who might doubt the anger that lies beneath Wasa-chan’s benign surface, like a volcano waiting to erupt.  The phone was still sitting on the counter, I happily noticed, at the beginning of this story.

It was a Wednesday night, and as such it wasn’t atypical to find STR and I sharing a few drinks at the local watering hole, WiCo.  Tonight’s atmosphere was different, however for two reasons: one, the next day was a holiday, so the usual lingering fear of what tomorrow will feel like at school was absent; and two, STR and I had made plans to visit Hiroshima the next day.

We caught a bus up to Fukuoka, and disembarked to overwhelming hodgepodge of cold streets, cold weather, and cold people.  Maybe Hell isn’t hot after all.  STR and I agree that we’re better off not being FukJets.  From there we decide that a local train to Hiroshima is a brilliant idea… never mind the six hour ride, because we can get off at any time to pay the rent, smoke a fag and buy another six pack of tall boys.

We arrived in Hiroshima a little after midnight and booked our next three nights at the ever-convenient Toyoku Inn.

The highlights of the trip: