Nearly 12 hours from start to finish. One Taxi, one Bus, lots of walking, two plane flights. A couple hundred dollars and lots of waiting. Two cans of coffee, one cup of tea, one small orange juice, half a pastry, one steak sandwich.

When I arrived at the drivers license office in Omura at noon I was greeted by the sight of an old man being lifted into an ambulance. He had a calm look on his face, and his eyes were closed, but I didn’t know if it were sleep or something more permanent.

And then he and the ambulance were gone and I was left to walk into a building I still had several hours to wait in.

On the flight back I sat next to a business who was reading a book with an illustrated cover that showed the solar system. In my own lap lay my kindle bearing a science fiction story.

We both watched the lights of Omura fade out as we rose above the clouds and him into sleep. I sat reading my book before the turbulence in the final ten minutes of the flight reminded me of my vehement distaste for flying into the island. Frankly, it’s because it scares the piss out of me. Nothing like tipped wings and sudden drops to evoke prayers and curses in equal measure.

And last yet I trudge up the hill— the famous, loathsome hill. The one my friends comment with “fuck this hill,” more than anything else. Yes, it’s that hill I ascend after a long day.

And tomorrow— I shall finally drive back down it (again).