Cafe Kissa, Shizuoka City, Japan, May 31st 2004.

The unwelcome advance of summer brings a tangible moisture to the air. The air pressure drops significantly and it becomes difficult and uncomfortable just sitting. The humidity is oppressive. It weighs down upon your shoulders from above, adding a new kind of reluctance to any form of energy-expending activity. People’s attitudes change. It comes from rain lasting days. Voluminous sheets of rain sweep across the houses and streets. But they don’t wash away the heat of the day. The grey clouds above keep the sun from shining through and keep the heat from dissipating. The heat, with nowhere to escape, latches itself to everyone and everything. A thin, parasitic film, covering every inch of skin.

The night brings no solace, just the inability to sleep. The steady, mechanical turn of a fan moving thick, heavy air lethargically around a room. After a night like this, laundry doesn’t dry. A subtle tang hangs in the air, amidst the hanging clothes. Pages don’t turn as fast. As if each letter, doubly-inked and twice as heavy as before, making the reader look deeper into every word before moving on to the next. There’s a slower rhythm to the pedals of bicycles. Riders trying to wade their way through the heat, trying not to work harder than the slightest breeze gained by their peddling.

Between 5 and 7 in the evening, the Filipino girls walk to their places of work from their apartments. Their baseball hats and short skirts and their tight tank tops. They walk in groups, rarely less than three; often in pairs, holding hands that swing as they wait, standing at the lights. Talking to each other with quiet smiles. On their way to their clubs where rich, drunk salary-men pay exorbitant amounts of money to have them pour their drinks and tell them they are interesting. The lights change from red to blue. Amidst a distant gaze, a hint of sadness evident in their eyes, lying beneath their playful summer banter and the scent of their perfume.