Blister

I could sleep for a thousand years following the first exploits of Fukuoka and ocean travel.

The jetfoil back to the island cut through the choppy waves like a knife through cake. I kept wondering when we’d get to top speed, not realizing we had already hit it.

I hit 120,000 steps during this week— and I have two shiny new blisters to show for it. I’m already missing the vibrancy of the city. Even though I spent much of it alone, my time felt markedly more social than on the island.

I’d go back in a heartbeat— to meander through tight streets and discover hidden gems. I ate my weight in ramen and horse meat (the latter being an unexpected pleasure).

I imagine I’ll sleep like a rock until the morning sigil blasts from the tower atop the hospital across the way— providing the daily announcement to the island that the day has started.