"Ne, ne, Amy-chan . . ." Kio-chan is calling to me from across the Moooo! Bar. "Man-chan wa ne . . ." he starts to tell me a story about his best friend, 80-year-old Man-chan, who is sitting next to him. The only thing he likes more than Man-chan is telling stories about him. "You should see Man-chan's house! Sugoi yo. He has many decorations all around the outside of his house."

I have seen Man-chan's house, and if you ever had, you'd never forget it: propellers, rusty saws and broken oars nailed on the wall over knee-high ceramic jars and bits of machinery -- stuff too redolent of a long life by the sea to be mere junk, but too beat up to ever be antiques. "Ii desu ne? Isn't it great? Everyone should enjoy life like Man-chan." Kio-chan's jovial fits of laughter are often substituted by a kacking sound that goes "kkkkkkkkk."

"But Kio-chan, your house is also very interesting!" I say while fixing Man-chan another nonalcoholic drink and Kio-chan another glass of wine. "Well, yes, I suppose so," Kio-chan agrees. Kio-chan lives over the mountain on the other side of the island next to a rock quarry. He has made hundreds of little stone lanterns from the stray rock shards and has placed them all around his house. It is through his little stone lanterns that we first met when I was walking by his house and stopped to admire the little lanterns. Kio-chan came out and we started talking, and have been friends ever since. He gave me one of his little stone lanterns to take home. "You know, my wife doesn't like me coming here to the bar," he says. "So now I just tell her I'm going to Man-chan's house. And then we come here! Kkkkkkkk."