orange juice

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True to his word

Takeshi shows up at my house.

Couldn't have ignored him 

if I wanted to.


That guy...

he's so strange.


It's been a while since

I've seen him not in uniform.


Ripped jeans.

An indie band shirt.

Totally him.


"Don't chicken out."

"I get it."

"You look like you're gonna puke."

I chuckle.

"Don't tempt me."


We go to the station,

take a quick ride.

The JR line, like always.


No words,

but silent understanding.


We sway in tandem.

Some prep students

scribble in notebooks furiously.


Takeshi notices.

"Couldn't be me," he whispers.

"You might need it."

"Fuck off."


A short ride later,

we're let out.


East Hoshizora station.


A part of town,

I've never been to.


It looks more modern.

Like Tokyo.


Can't hear the waves.

But still,

a quiet stillness.


The cicadas sound sharper though,

echoing off concrete.


We stumble around.

Flies lost in the wind.


Takeshi squints at his phone.

"She said turn here..."

A mumble.


Eventually, a house.


Two stories,

like a package box.

A small fence.

Small garden in front.

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