The next train is the Tokyo Shinkansen to Kyoto, announced the voice over the PA.
The platform heaved.
Mike muttered between breaths, elbows out, “Stay close, Merle, a gap.”
Two Frenchmen and an American Veterans group closed in. The air crackled. Jostling, niggling, Mike and Merle defended their position, if not their dignity.
The platform attendant gestured toward the queue, snaking into the distance. Not since D-Day had the Allies formed and held so firm, but to no avail. The spirit of Ganbaru—perseverance through tough times, which had gotten them far in the war, was ignited.
Merle broke first and pulled Mike away, leaning on his arm as they trudged off.
Hiroto smiled to himself, eyes averted. He tapped Mike on the shoulder and motioned to the two thin yellow lines to queue behind, one for each of the next two arrivals. So obvious, so civilised, he thought. Bowing, not once but thrice, deep from the hip, he offered his spot and shuffled to the end of the line. He glanced again at his reserved seat number and smiled.
He closed his eyes.
The ancestors nodded.
Allies formed and reformed.
A breeze blew.
Golden ginkgo leaves tumbled.
The old sign said ‘Welcome to Edo’.
On a clear day, you can see Mount Fuji.
Daisies will poke their heads up when the concrete cracks.
At the end of the line.
Excellent to read!