"Rikimatsu-san, I'm cleaning the fishing boat today," I tell the old man as he passes in front of my house on the port. I am referring to the small fishing boat with a heap of green seaweed and shellfish sticking to the bottom of it — stuff you'd usually find on a Japanese dinner plate. But at least I know my boat will never go hungry.
I point out to him my intentions today because I am a little embarrassed that I haven't cleaned my boat for a while. I am sure he has noticed the growth of seaweed attached to the bottom, peeking out from underneath as if a dozen fish were doing rhythmic gymnastics with green ribbons.
"You never use that boat," he said. "Why don't you get rid of it?"