I thought to myself, Why do I know his face. When I glanced over, I saw he was staring right back at me. Taking my seat at the counter, I ordered "Tuna with fermented soybeans, fried lotus root, and salted shallots," while the old man next to me requested "Salted shallots, lotus root fries, and tuna with fermented soybeans" almost simultaneously. That night, he was sitting at the counter, his back so straight it was almost concave. Several years ago, we sat beside each other at a crowded bar near the train station, and after that, our paths would cross every now and then. Since graduation, I hadn't seen him for quite a while. He wasn't my home-room teacher, and Japanese class didn't interest me much, so I didn't really remember him. He was my Japanese teacher in high school. Harutsuna Matsumoto, but I called him "Sensei." Not "Mr." or "Sir," just "Sensei."
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