Trundling homeward in the dark, cheeks-to-cheeks and pondering the meaning of life in a steamy train carriage. The conductor up front, immaculate and deadpan in a climate-controlled cubicle oblivious to Japan Rail's rolling Apache sweat lodge.
Don't yell out. It's late spring — un-cloak! The thermometer climbs. Predictably, that first vernal rivulet of sweat at the neck's nape beads dead south, unhindered by belt, accessories, or whatever.
South?