Abruptly, the narrative once again shifts to another dialogue happening in the present, this time between two women in their thirties. The two discuss trivialities, and as they talk, Kazu describes the oddities of hearing and speaking:

I can no longer hear sounds or voices with my ears. But I feel like I’m listening closely. I can’t watch people anymore either. But I feel like I’m watching intently. And I can’t speak about what I hear or see anymore. But I can talk to people. The people in my memories, whether they’re alive or dead— (43-44).

Kazu observes the intermittent rain, partially listening to various conversations. He notices a cyclist who stops in front of the Statue of Times Forgotten, which serves as a memorial to those killed in a firebombing conducted by the US military in 1945. Kazu recalls what his friend Shige told him about this catastrophe and the horribly tragic circumstances that led to the deaths of over a hundred thousand people, more than were killed in Nagasaki or Hiroshima by the atomic bombs. Many of those people were working-class citizens. Kazu briefly observes a man shaving and comments that he is likely unhoused; then he goes back to the statue and his conversation with Shige about the firebombing.