Takashi Doi stepped out of the restaurant into the stifling August night. Even at that advanced hour, the sidewalk continued to throw off the heat it had absorbed during the day.
Having had too much to drink to be bothered by the temperature, Doi decided that it was a fine night and he would walk the few blocks crosstown to his Sutton Place apartment.
He set off not too unsteadily, humming. It was a pity that the businessmen visiting from Osaka had not wanted to go on to a bar following the lengthy dinner.
While the meal had been excellent, with real Matsuzaka beef, imported from Japan at fantastic expense, the drinking that had gone on throughout the evening put him in the mood for karaoke.
Doi belched, then sighed. He knew the posting as Japan's consular representative in New York was a reward for decades of faithful service, but he was still looking forward to retiring in a few months. In his late sixties, he should have at least a few years left to enjoy the good life back in Japan.
He stopped when he saw the light warning "Don't Walk" and looked up and down Third Avenue. He swayed slightly, the sweltering heat magnifying the effects of the liquor. Then the light changed and he started across the street, beginning to sing quite audibly the opening of "New York, New York", a karaoke favorite.
