As I curse every force of nature that brought me into this nonsensical situation, I notice something else. Among the coffee shop propaganda and baristas handing out free pumpkin spice latte samples is a silver-haired man. He leans against a small kei truck advertising udon and puffs away on a cigarette like he has all the time in the world to stare at me. Nothing out of the ordinary about that, in my position … but something else about him bugs me. Something about his face. I cross the road to HORUS and pretend to admire the buns in the window. I watch his reflection in the glass. His head turns to follow me. Who is this jerk? I turn around and our eyes meet. His mouth stretches wider.

He’s smiling. That’s what’s bothering me. Fuck this. I kiss my teeth, take my bike and my business back home. Might as well while I can beat the next batch of rain.

In my apartment I plop down on the small patch of floor that isn’t covered in garbage, relieved I didn’t get fired, but still pissed off at myself. Through the windows and thin walls, I can hear everyone down below on the street chattering away, happily: the sounds of happy families with their happy children in their happy strollers. Behind the closed curtains I can tell the sun is shining, too. How could I be so stupid? I mentally kick myself one more time for not buying breakfast on the way home. Something tells me my fridge is empty except for a few bottles of condiments, and I’m going to need strength to get this place cleaned up.

My intestines gurgle as I survey the relics of a food orgy I cannot remember. My head is swimming, which is perfect because I feel like I’ve been walking along the bottom of the ocean. What did I get up to yesterday? Hazy memories of binge-watching xxxHolic and eating everything in my kitchen surface. How did I wake up, forget a whole twenty-four hours, wipe a home buffet from memory, and mistake today for a Tuesday? And now that I think of it, Zozo’s security is really lax. If the place is really closed, I shouldn’t have been able to access our floor. Anyone off the street could just walk in and take … well, I’m sure there are many things of value in our school. And what the hell was up with Anpanman sitting at the reception desk? Maybe someone found it in the elevator again and popped it there out of convenience. Still, I don’t get how the school’s oldest toy keeps making its way around. Something fishy is going on.