Taxi drivers polishing their cars while they wait for fares, lace seat covers bright white in the sun.
Crows cruise the sky over Hiroshima. It’s a strange sight. Ominous to me, nothing new to the locals.
Promenade of Peace is a tree-filled, narrow park between hotels, offices, and a main road. It has a cool stillness and fresh breeze. Quiet in the midst of rush hour traffic.
Blisters on my feet again. Fewer than six miles today and still I am sore. Onigiri and dango for dinner. And some fruit.
No shrines except for a few, and those are modern. Because, of course, we bombed them all. There was nothing left here. It aches.
Not too hot today. Managed to not sweat through my clothes. It’s a nice change of pace.