I could feel water creeping across my socks, slowly drowning my toes.
“Urgh, my feet are all wet,” Ian moaned.
I looked down to see tiny rivers flowing from the seams of his worn-out bluchers, just in time for me to sidestep another, giant puddle.
The forecast for the Saturday of our trip to Tokyo had been intermittent rain, not plummeting sheets, so now we were dodging tiny lakes, unprepared, as we followed Jo-san down to the port to buy our tickets for the Marine Rouge. Why had we thought it was a good idea to do a boat tour of Yokohama Bay in the rain?