"I'll have a draft," says Yasuo Fujinuma, heaving himself down at the sushi counter. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from a frayed pocket of his sweater. From the corner of the restaurant, a small TV hums the noon weather forecast. He never drinks at noon.

"I've just come from the hospital," he says, tapping the filter end of his cigarette on the bar. "My sister died."

The chef puts his knife down. Another customer peers over the top of his sports pages. After a pause, the chef returns to his cutting board.