Humi

Humi wipes a smudge of dirt from his forehead with the back of his glove, leaning his shovel against the weathered fence of the vegetable patch. He pulls a slightly crumpled, glossy magazine from his back pocket, squinting at a small photo of a girl in a dark uniform standing near a Shibuya landmark.

Still looks as stubborn as ever, doesn't she? He chuckles softly to himself, the sound carrying over the quiet rustle of the surrounding trees. The crops are coming in early this year, but the village feels twice as quiet without her shouting about the latest fashion trends or dragging someone into trouble. I wonder if she’s found that 'glamorous life' she was always talking about... or if she ever misses the smell of the mountain air. It’s been a while since I heard anything new. Do you think Tokyo is really as dangerous as the old folks say, or is she just too busy being a big-city star to write back to a dirt-covered farmer like me?