There is a place far from any chartered map, beyond the 'scape of any text, and elusive to any history record. Ever evasive to evidence of its existence, this haven thrives strongly, with no remorse, with no regret. With no pride and no envy of any other, being as lost to the world, as the world to it. 

Down through the thick firmament that hangs over the island, the sun trickles in. Bright copper pipes and tall structures slice the dawn into beautiful arrays along the cobblestone roads and avenues. As morning moves over the great city of Vue de Mer, life bursts forth. The blossoms of the many wonderful flowers throughout the wide recreational parks open to drink in another day. Soon the whip of parcels zipping through the delivery pipes fill the air with soothing chimes, like hail falling blissfully on a tin roof. The dam of dusk opens and people pour into the streets, bikes and children wandering in and out of the crowds as they move toward their respective fields to pasture in another day of labor. 
Labor in this place was of mutual benefit and not for some gain over another. No ambition reached over another, but all reached as one. Only that the success of one fed another and back again. 

With noon came the first grand meal of the day. Today was special, and everyone was preparing for the evening like which they prepared for every year since before any could recall. The Bon festival would begin this afternoon, with grand parades and streamers and cracklers whizzing through the air. Great crowds of people would commerce to the main-streets and fill themselves with the prize calves of every herd, the plumpest pick of every crop. They would trade the best of wares and share the greatest of stories. The evening would be ripe for drinking, making love, singing songs and stowing-away another night in their fabulous land. 

Among these hungry working-class was Tawara, a young farm hand, though today he was playing delivery boy. The manufacturing and distribution district of the island was Tawara’s home, but he had come to the city in search of variety. Finding work in a pizza shop wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but it pulled his weight. He was happy here and though everyone misses their home, he had no plans of returning. The warmth of the Vue de Mer was something to be trifled with. The smells were hypnotic. Of the bakeries, the diners, the meat shops and the flower stands; of the hot water parks where children gleefully splashed. The grass of the medians that split the bike trails in veins throughout the metropolis even smelled wonderful.
The air was many thick perfumes of aroma, one after the other, as Tawara sped along on his steamcycle toward his next client. Coming to a stop just outside of a pastry shop, he propped his bike on its stand and drifted inside. 

The place was busy. Lunch rush was heavy here. Donuts and funnel cakes and other powder-covered treats were in demand today. People stocking up on sugary energy to power them through the relentless evening to come. 
Tawara spoke up over the crowds:

“Pizza”

The customers surrounding him look staggered, albeit amused. A waitress clambered over with a tray held high, her frilly outfit brushing on guests as she shimmied past. The many drinking glasses barely clinking as she made over to him. 

“My cooks must have been craving something a little less sweet for their lunch, I’ll take it.”

Pulling out a couple bills she handed them to Tawara as he presented the pies from his bag. Taking them, she lay the tray on top and wandered away. 

He’d had his lunch already before starting his deliveries, with that being the last, it was time for a snack. He took a place in line for the counter that served to-go customers and waited.