Chapter 8Stepping under the wooden torii archway of the shrine where Steve Deveaux’s funeral was being held, Hiroshi frightened a few crows waiting for leftovers near the gate. They flapped up into the gray sky, squawks lingering in the damp air. His feet crunched on the wet gravel as he walked to the stone font to rinse his hands and shake them dry before entering the grounds.
He looked up at the temple design soaring skyward. The roof was made of gray slate and all the walls, beams and woodwork were painted black. Lights for the funeral cast glimmers along the beams and pillars, which were wet from the evening drizzle.
A pop song spilled out from the main hall, the bouncing bass line and bright vocals sounding phony in the ancient shrine, sadder than silence would have been.
Hiroshi n
