Walking back from the station, Charlies and I stopped at a burger joint.  But not just any burger joint. This place served red snapper burgers as big as my head—oishi!

Back at the hotel, I tried to nap but Charlie kept waking me by turning up the TV.

“Turn it down, I’m trying to sleep!” I griped.  He would, then he’d turn it back up.  I gave up and rolled up from my futon into a crouching position.  It was raining again, hard.  I tried making sense of the tourist brochures to see if there was something else we could do to kill time here.  They were either in Japanese or had bad English translations.  There was something called the Museum of the Black Ship.  I went out into the hall and sat on a bench near the elevator to get wifi.  The museum had been panned by reviewers; I think the highest rating was a two star.

What I really wanted was to go clothes shopping.  I know there are lots of people in the world who own only a few changes of clothes, and now I knew how they felt, after wearing the same four shirts for a month.  And my leggings had ripped from hip to knee so I was down to one pair of pants.

But there didn’t appear to be much shopping in Shimoda, and I couldn’t leave Charlie alone.

I had no book.  I flipped through some of Charlie’s manga but couldn’t make sense of it.

I went and bought a beer from the hallway vending machine and plopped down on the futon to watch TV with Charlie.  It was the news hour, and every broadcast involved a distinguished-looking 50-something male anchor reading the headlines while a meek young woman sat next to him, nodding and occasionally saying, “Hai, hai,” in a little girl voice.

“That little girl shit makes me sick!” I exclaimed.  Charlie looked at me in shock, then laughed.  I hadn’t sworn in front of him until now.  I suppose I should feel guilty but on the other hand it made him literally sit up and take notice of his aunt’s opinion.

—

Morning broke with the sound of more rain.  I rolled over to see Charlie watching origami folding on TV.  In English, the words “Courtesy of Gift Wrapping Association” scrolled across the bottom of the screen.  I wondered why that was in English, then wrestled my body up off the futon and crab walked to the bathroom.

Futons.  How can millions of Japanese find them comfy?  I guess it’s what you’re used to but I couldn’t imagine ever getting used to them.

I had sunk into a mind-numbing ennui caused by unrelenting rain, surreal TV programming, and lack of books and internet.

But time passes, whether you’re doing anything or not.  We faffed about until noon, then sprinted to a restaurant next to the hotel.  I had saved this for desperate times because it was called Jonathan’s, and it looked like a Denny’s.  The menu and décor were fashioned after a 1950s American diner, offering fried chicken, hamburgers, and malts.  That would have been okay if the food was good, but it was absolutely execrable.  I let Charlie order a mango malt and that kept him busy and happy.

It was time for me to break the news to Charlie.  “I need to buy some pants, and I can’t leave you alone in the hotel room, so you’ll have to come shopping with me.”

“Awww,” he wailed as his head lolled down onto his chest in dismay.

“But …”  His head popped up.  “Let’s check out the pachinko parlors.  If you don’t whine while I shop, I’ll give you some money to play later on.”  Charlie was all smiles.

At the bus station, the friendly information people told us pachinko was only for adults.  Charlie’s head hung as he shuffled out after me.

The only stores were sad souvenir shops offering pukka-shell plant hangers and dresses with hibiscus left over from the 80s.

Then I spied a small sign at the top of a long set of stairs that said Mall.

Inside were scores of shops and an arcade.