“That’s… me,” he said slowly. “Why?”
“I know,” she interrupted, then flushed. “I mean. I’m looking for someone. They said to meet here. A man who uses the mazome soap.”
Kenji froze. Mazome – mixed soap. Not the fancy lavender or pine tar blocks, but the old-fashioned stuff: a blend of camellia oil, rice bran, and charcoal. His father had used it. Kenji had used it for thirty years because it was cheap and it worked. He bought it from a tiny shop two streets over.
“That’s… me,” he said slowly. “Why?”
“I know,” she interrupted, then flushed. “I mean. I’m looking for someone. They said to meet here. A man who uses the mazome soap.” Mazome Soap de Aimashou
Kenji froze. Mazome – mixed soap. Not the fancy lavender or pine tar blocks, but the old-fashioned stuff: a blend of camellia oil, rice bran, and charcoal. His father had used it. Kenji had used it for thirty years because it was cheap and it worked. He bought it from a tiny shop two streets over. “That’s… me,” he said slowly
