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.”
