The setting sun rapidly sank beneath the Nerima skyline, lengthening
the shadows on the streets. Streetlamps and neon signs clicked and flickered
to life, creating pools of artificial multicolored light on the concrete
walkways and pavement.
        Few pedestrians were on the streets so close to nightfall, the man
noticed. He strode purposefully down the sidewalk, long brown coat gently
flowing behind him in the light breeze. His face was shadowed by the brim of
the fedora perched on his head, his hands buried in the coat's pockets.
        The ward had changed since he had left, which was not at all
surprising. The sidewalks had more cracks, and less people walked the
streets. Some stores had iron bars on their windows and doors, indicating
that crime had gone somewhat past simple disturbing the peace and grand
theft undergarment.
        Stars began appearing in the darkening sky, tiny pinpricks of light
in that infinite celestial blackness. He gazed upward and marvelled at how
few stars could be seen in urban areas as his feet carried him along a
course he hadn't travelled in years.
        He had lost track of the time as the sun finished its descent into
the horizon, so he had no idea how long he had been walking when he found
what he was looking for.

        The place had definitely changed since he had last set foot in its
doors. A few hanging plants here and there were just the beginning. The
restaurant's furniture had been replaced with new tables and chairs. The
booths, on inspection, looked to have been completely re-finished and
re-upholstered. The counter, in fact, was the only thing that looked to be
original.
        Moving gracefully, he quietly stepped over to the counter, taking a
seat on one of the western-style barstools. The restaurant was empty, save him.
        "Can I help you?" The man looked up at the young girl that had
stepped out from the back, a bag of soba noodles in her hand. Her chestnut
hair fell to her shoulders, deep brown eyes staring out from beneath her
bangs. Her voice carried a slight Kansai accent, and he knew just she had to be.
        "Do you still serve okonomiyaki?" he asked in a somewhat hoarse voice.
        "Sure, mister," she said, "It's our specialty."
        "I'll have a pork okonomiyaki, then." Immediately, she set about
cooking the dish for him, manipulating the ingredients with a skill and
precision he had seen only one other match. "If you don't mind my asking,
what's your name?"
        "Sachiko Kuonji," she answered cheerfully.
        "Sachiko," he said, "That's a lovely name."
        "Thanks!" Sachiko deftly flipped the dish to allow the other side of
the pancake to cook. "What's your name?"
        "My name... isn't important," he replied. "Y'know, I used to come
here often when I was a kid. Back when it was run by a woman named Ukyo."
        "Really?" she asked while sprinkling on the spices, "That's my mom!"
        "Yeah," he said with a nostalgiac note in his voice. "Is she here?"
        "No," Sachiko said sadly a she served him the food, "She died about
five years ago."
        "Oh," he replied quietly, "I'm sorry."
        "Don't be," she said. "Did you know my mom?"
        "Yeah. We were sixteen when she started this place," he said. "Never
thought it'd be around this long." He began devouring the okonomiyaki with
gusto, finishing it in seconds.
        "Wow, mister," she said, "I've never seen anyone eat that fast."
        "It was great, Sachiko," he replied. "Just like your mother used to
make."
        "Thanks," she said with a blush. "How well did you know her?"
        "Pretty well," he said after a few moments. "I've been away for
awhile, and we fell out of touch." Rising from the stool, he placed some yen
on the counter. "It was nice to meet you, Sachiko."
        "Wait!" He turned after a few steps to face her. "Who are you?"
        "I've some catching up to do. Once that's done, I'll come back and
we can talk." Without another word, the man in the coat walked out into the
night. //Thirty years,\\ he thought, //I still can't believe it's been that
long.\\ Shrugging beneath his coat, the man set off into the night.

=========================================================

        I have no idea what to do with this. I was in a bit of a melancholy
mood. As always, C&C is welcome and appreciated.

        This was written to the song "Tuesday's Gone" originally recorded by
Lynnrd Skynrd. The version I used was the Metallica cover on the CD Garage Days.