At daybreak, the first sound of wood came from the street corner.
Once, then again-the sound of nails biting into wood could be heard two streets away.
The hammering was unhurried, two blows and a pause for breath, its rhythm steady.
A ring of people gathered before the notice wall, with others stopping to watch from outside it.
A fresh sheet had been nailed up, fastened at only one corner.
When the wind passed, the corner lifted, then fell back.
Ink covered the paper, line beneath line.
Wall repairs took one line, putting up shelters another, carrying materials another, with several lines left blank at the bottom.
This was the second day, and the ink on the new sheet was still dark.
A stretcher leaned against the foot of the wall, its ropes untied, its poles upright.
A narrow table had been set beside the notices. The person adding names sat behind it, a master register weighted down beside his hand.
People queued at the table to have their names entered. Once their turn was done, they turned and left. A name went onto a line, and its owner belonged to that line, dispersing faster than they had arrived.
People left the sheet and headed off to their respective lines of work.
Someone carrying water came from the far end of the street, yielding to a materials cart, the shoulder pole swaying twice.
The cart passed down the middle of the street, pressing deep ruts into the ground. Those at the edge stepped half a pace aside.
Kiyoshi stood outside the ring and watched.
Someone in the crowd called to him. He raised a hand in acknowledgment without stopping or looking back.
Kiyoshi returned to his room and pulled the door nearly shut.
A strip of dust had been swept