I live in a prefecture where there's a house with blue roof tiles and decrepit windows.

It wants belonged to a family of Bunwaku artisans who were known puppeteers and famous for

their lifelike goals.

But as the advent of film came along, their popularity diminished and their children,

in order to make ends meet, slowly began leaving the family business in search of other

ventures.

Eventually, the home was abandoned.

Over the years, the local officials have made promises to tear the place down, but each

time, the cranes and workers would quietly disperse before anything was ever accomplished.

As the residents of the area, most of us knew better than to ask what became of the demolitions.

We hoped that one day, someone would make good on their word.

And although many have tried, I never expected to be involved.

But there I was, a member of the Zoning Committee for the Chambers of Commerce, working alongside

my coworker did determine how to expand the nearby shopping district.

My coworker Yamamoto Date was a man with two last names, which was problematic as custom

dictates that a man with two last names was difficult to address properly, as we often

refer to acquaintances by their surnames and close family and friends by their given

name.

So, it became rather confusing addressing my colleague and friend as either Yamamoto or

Date due to the impressions that our department wasn't close knit.

Which is important in our prefecture, as we believed that well-accustomed workers

signified an efficient system.

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