© 2006 Glen Bonham


The familiar frenzy of New York greeted Jimmy Miyake as he arrived at JFK International Airport aboard JAL flight 439. He retrieved his luggage and nervously waited in line for Customs and Immigration, caught off-guard by the laborious security measures in place since 9/11. Finished with Customs, he breathed a sigh of relief and strode through the main exit.

As the full heat hit him in the face, he knew the day was shaping up to be a scorcher. It’s been a long time, he thought, the morning sun temporarily dazzling him along with a flood of memories. He removed a cell phone from his double-breasted sharkskin jacket, flipped it open and pressed a number.

Hai (Yes)?” snapped a voice on the other end.

Moshi moshi Yasamura san (Hello, Mr. Yasamura),” Jimmy said. “I’m here in New York. Made it through Customs and Immigration, no problems.” The party on the other end babbled something and Jimmy responded, “Hai, I will keep you informed.” He clicked off his cell and stuck it back in his pocket. His weekender slung over his shoulder and his carry-on bag firmly in grip, he joined the other arriving passengers in the limo line-up.

Tall, slender and impeccably dressed, Jimmy was causing more than a few stares even among the jaded New Yorkers. Depending on your fashion sense you’d guess he was either forty years behind the times, or directly on the cutting edge of retro. His sharkskin jacket overlapped generous-cut trousers tapering to cuffs that presided over pointy shoes. His jet-black hair was slicked into a pompadour that segued nicely into a 50s ducktail. Despite the muggy, blistering New York heat, Jimmy refused to remove his jacket or even unbutton his shirt collar, preferring not to call attention to the tattoos embellishing most of his body.

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