They walked a few blocks to a freshly painted frame house that was situated behind a neatly kept lawn. “Nice house,” he said.

They walked six blocks, then six more, and still another six before they turned into a three-story frame building. The Ashidas, parents and three daughters, occupied four rooms on the second floor.

Wonder Bread bakery way up on Nineteenth, where a nickel used to buy a bagful of day-old stuff. That was thirteen and a half blocks, all uphill. He knew the distance by heart because he'd walked it twice every day to go to grade school, which was a half-block beyond the bakery or fourteen blocks from home.

The grocery store was the same one the Ozakis had operated for many years. That's all his father had had to say. Come to the grocery store which was once the store of the  Ozakis.

He walked past the pool parlor,

A shooting gallery stood where once  had been a clothing store; fish and chips had replaced a jewelry shop

movie house

Jackson Street started at the waterfront and stretched past the two train depots and up the hill all the way to the lake, where the houses were bigger and cleaner and had garages with late-model cars in them. For Ichiro, Jackson Street signified that section of the city immediately beyond the railroad tracks between Fifth and Twelfth Avenues. That was the section which used to be pretty much Japanese town. It was adjacent to Chinatown and most of the gambling and prostitution and drinking seemed to favor the area.

Chicago

New York

Pearl Harbor

He walked toward the railroad depot where the tower with the clocks on all four sides was. It was a dirty looking tower of ancient brick. It was a dirty city. Dirtier, certainly, than it had a right to be after only four years.

TWO WEEKS AFTER HIS TWENTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY, ICHIRO got off a bus at Second and Main in Seattle.