If Ogasawara Island was a guy he’d be tanned to brown, with skin so sun-exposed its downright leathery. There would be no tan lines, because he hasn’t worn a shirt since the first desert storm. The sun would have bleached his hair long ago, and obviously he would have the beachy physique of someone that spends their days, diving, hiking, and boatin. He’d have the laid-back island feel to his personality, but he somehow would escape the urge to work on island time, and instead be surprisingly punctual. He wouldn’t self-identify as being tied to any mainland, he’s an islander through and through. He’d be easy to love and impossible to leave.
Here are the days of Ogasawara.