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Sato? The attendant scowled a bit. Does anyone know where Sato is, hes going to miss breakfast. Fumiko looked up from his breakfast and glanced outsid..., toward the beach. No smile upon his face, he simply bowed low. The attendant, getting no information from the others attending breakfast, took his clipboard and marked absent next to Satos name in the slot for August 6 then used his smartphone to text his supervisor, who would send someone to Satos room. Sato was indeed down at the beach. He. That was about par for the course. I usually averaged twenty-five to thirty miles an hour when hitching. The waitresses in the place had taken an interest in me. Well, everyone had. It was just the waitresses who approached me. I was a sight to see, I'm sure. I was the quintessential hippy by appearance. Suede jacket with long fringe, matching boots, a paisley headband and cobalt blue, John Lennon type specs. I was lavishing in the attention, but I had a ride to New Orleans that was leavin. More

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