In hindsight, I should have opted for a taxi instead of the most death-defying bike ride in the history of gaijin lateness. It’s raining buckets, and everyone insists on stepping in my path. I’m a sopping mess by the time I get to the Zozo building. Something tells me to pass on the seven flights of stairs and succumb to the whim of the elevator, where I mop my forehead and prepare any and all excuses to Manager. My limbs shake with adrenalin. My eyes sting. Good. Maybe tears will make him take pity on me.

“I’m so sorry, everyone, Manager! I — hello?”

The doors slide open to near-complete darkness. There’s no one here. If I didn’t recognize the eclectic mascot on the wall illuminated by the neon-red exit sign and the light from the elevator, I’d say this is the set of a Japanese horror movie. Apparently, Zozo is closed. There’s nothing that shows signs of anyone being here … except maybe the Anpanman toy on the reception desk. Which I don’t remember anyone putting there. It faces the elevator, faces me, grinning at me with its beady little black eyes. It almost looks like it’s about to say something. But why would it?

Then again, I did say, “hello.”

I step back into the elevator and mash the button for the ground floor. Oh, well. It’s not like anyone is around to see what an idiot I am. Outside, everything looks the same, except the rain has stopped (what wonderful timing). A couple walking by me gesture and whisper, “Kowai, ne …” A woman holding a child’s hand pulls harder when he stops and stares at me. All the shops and stores around me are busy. I squint down the street. People are coming in and out of the bank, and a worker is standing outside the City of Nishibe Post Office, handing stuff to passersby. Why the hell is Zozo closed? What’s going on? Everything looks like a typical, normal —

Oh, my gosh. I bite my lip. Today isn’t Tuesday, and I’m not late; it’s Monday. “Shit,” I mutter to myself. My calves ache, but there’s nowhere to sit except on my bike. Fine. I just want to stand here for a moment and feel sorry for myself. How could I be so stupid? And why did I say “hello” in a scary, deserted place? That’s what idiots in horror movies do.