I'm walking to my hotel in Fukuoka after having had a chicken hot-pot with a fellow from the conference I'm attending.

A fellow is out on the street in front of a barbecue place yelling, "How does Barbecue sound?"

I usually just walk on past, expecting that he would not expect me to understand him. But unlike 30 years ago, it seems that these days, Japan is full of foreigners who speak Japanese. He makes eye contact and says to me conversationally, "How does barbecue sound?"

"It sounds delicious!" I say, stopping to explain, "But I just ate. My belly is full as a dumpling."

I don't know if this is an expression in Japanese, but I had just seen some pretty full looking dumplings, and it seemed appropriate.

"It's the best price you'll find." He says with genuine altruism. We have become fast friends, and he doesn't want me overpaying. Perhaps he heard about the place I went to last night that added a 550 yen 'seating fee' to my bill.

"Here!" I say, lifting up my shirt and offering my distended belly, "Feel it. It's full as a dumpling."

He puts his hands on it to check. He moves them around and pushes a bit, then puts his ear to it and flicks it with a finger, making a taunt 'twang'. "Man, you get that thing home!" he concedes, "We ain't gonna get any more meat in there!"

Okay, I admit it, I was pushing my belly out like a German pushing his child out of the house when she turns eighteen; but in all honesty, I couldn't eat another bite.

"Nope." I agree. Then remembering I am often a little too self centred. "How's your belly?" I ask. "Let's have a feel."

"No one ever..." he starts, but is too choked up at my tender concern. "My... my... bell.... Here." he says, lifting his shirt. He looks like a pregnant alley-cat.

Laying my hands on it, I say, "Like a dumpling! You're about to explode!"

"I feel like a pinata!" he says, mixing similes.

I ignore it, repeating mine, but adding vulgarity for emphasis, "Like a fucking dumpling."

He understands, and nods agreement.

"I'll come for meat tomorrow!" I say, as I walk off. But we both know I won't. Bellies that pass in the night, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.