“Hey, how've you been?” I said, running up to him.

He was one of my friends from college, a nice guy, extremely bright. Shiori had dated him for a while, though not for very long. They'd even lived together for a few months.

“Oh, pretty good,” he said, smiling.

“What are you up to? Are you out on business?”

He was wearing a black shirt and cotton pants, the sort of clothes that looked like they were definitely meant for off the job. The only thing that suggested he was working was the single envelope he carried in his otherwise empty hand.

“Yeah, I'm just delivering this now. What about you? Looks like you're still as unoccupied as ever. . . .”

My friend often let the ends of his words trail off into nothing, in a way that sounded really gentle. He was grinning, there under the blue sky.

“That's right. I'm not doing a thing,” I said.

“Living the life of luxury.”

“Exactly. Hey, you're going to the subway, right? I'll come with you as far as the corner.”

We started walking.

The blue sky was carved up to fit the shapes of the buildings lining the street, and it shone with a peculiar clarity. For some time now I'd been feeling like I was in some other country. Every once in a while the city streets at noon and the sunlight that washes over them make my memories and all sorts of things get muddled, especially in the very middle of summer. I could almost feel the skin on my arms burning, little by little.

“God it's hot.”

“It is hot, isn't it?”

“I hear . . . I hear Shiori died,” said my friend. “I heard just recently.”

“That's right. Her parents came up from the country and everything. It was all really crazy,” I said, realizing as I said it that it was a strange response.

“I can imagine. She had some kind of job, right? Something bizarre?”

“Yeah, it was a little bizarre. I hadn't even known such a job existed.”

“Was that why she died? Because of her job?”

“Well . . . I don't know. But I don't think so.”

“Yeah, I guess that's something only she would know. I mean, she was always smiling, you know? And she was such a wonderful person. I just can't see how she could have been in such pain that she felt she had to die.”

“Me neither.”

We settled into silence for a time as we descended the wide street that led down the hill, walking slowly side by side. Several cars drove past us, and dazzling streams of sunlight hit us straight on. This man walking beside me has access to the same images of Shiori that I do, scenes only those of us who lived with her can know . . . Shiori with damp hair, Shiori cutting her nails, Shiori seen from behind as she washes the dishes, Shiori's sleeping face bathed in the morning sun. Somehow this seemed very strange to me.