Years ago I moved from Arato (near Ōhori Park) to Daimyō. On one of my last nights in the neighborhood, I popped into my favorite koryōri-ya and told the master that it was with great regret that I had to say good-bye to them. "You see, I'm . . . moving away."
"Oh? Where to?" asked his wife.
"Daimyō."
"Oh? Daimyō where?"
"One chōme."
"Where in exactly?"
As luck would have it, I was going to be living in the very same building as the couple. So, we didn't have to say goodbye after all.
Fast forward ten plus years and my wife is at the neighborhood bakery where Mrs. I tells her that today will be their last day of business. They're going to close down the bakery and demolish the building. What they do next is up in the air. They may build an apartment building, but at the moment nothing is decided, nothing except that they will be moving.
My wife who has been going to the bakery as often as three times or four times a week and chatting with the woman was sad to hear that they would be moving away.
"Don't worry," the baker's wife replied. "We're moving into your building. We'll be right upstairs from you."
Fukuoka, despite its size, is a very small town.