Japanese With Tattos

Akebono desu ne, I said, pointing with a forefinger at a patch of grey: dawn. A grunt and a curt nod of affirmation. It was a conversation we had had before. His English was limited to a few words—herro, bye-bye, gullfriend-o—and my Japanese was little better. Still, I wanted to talk about it. Dawn. Beta, he pronounced, indicating a patch of black, oily beneath a slick of capillary blood.