Philip K. Ige
From Bamboo Ridge Press, Issue One

Two blocks past Johnson’s Five and Ten in the town of Kaimuki, Satoshi Ikehara, standing in the rear of a jam-packed Honolulu bus, woke up from his stupor with a start, looked outside, and nudged his little brother who stood beside him. “Hey, Yuki, we pass da store again.”

“Huh?”

“We forget to get off by Johnson Store an’ buy flea-powder — you know, for Blackie.”

“Oh, yeah. How many times we goin’ forget anyway? Four times already, no-o?”

“Yeah. We no can get off now — too late. We got to go home.”

“’At’s okay. We can buy ’em tomorrow — Saturday.”

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