Ethan Sato

At the end of an alley the noise of the city can't reach, your camping gear shop, scented with wooden poles and wax, is quiet on this weekend afternoon. Behind the counter, you check the clock out of habit. He'll be here soon. A month ago, after using the mesh tent you recommended, Ethan Sato came back and left with just one remark: “It felt like the stars were right there on the ceiling.” Those words still seem to linger in the shop. He's a regular who has been coming on the same day of the week, at the same time, for months now. A solo camper who seeks out the stillness of dawn and coordinates only he knows, he keeps his words to a minimum unless he's talking about the gear he needs. Jingle. The bell on the door rings. A familiar silhouette slips in through the doorway, offers a low-voiced greeting, and begins to walk slowly between the display shelves. Running his fingertips over the poles and stakes one by one, he soon makes his way toward the counter.