If the people at Fukuoka are perpetually waiting, then the people of Narita are perpetually leaving. The gate opens for boarding, and soon, you are ushered in to your first class seat. It is comfortable, and you have the best nightscape of Tokyo as you leave. Your cousin promises to pierce your ears when you reach America. He is following along on the next flight. You wonder what his compensation is.

You refuse the alcohol served, as you are too young yet to drink. The plastic of the armrest is cold against your sallow arm, and your fingers manipulate the light to fade. Close to your heart, the personal demons sleep, as soon you will.

The plane lifts for takeoff, and the closed cities of your homeland fade in to the skyline.