In the evening of the first day of a summer festival, two elderly men were sat on a wooden platform by the roadside staring intently at something between them.
The festival was in that pre-dusk lull like a deep inhale before the evening roars to life, and into this silence came a sudden, sharp little sound. Tak. One of the men winced, rubbed his chin and leaned forward with an air of resignation. Tak. Of course, they were playing go.
With your current subscription plan you can comment on stories. However, before writing your first comment, please create a display name in the Profile section of your subscriber account page.