His reflection rippled in the little puddle he had been staring into, drawing him back into focus. The foot that splashed into the lingering rain was long gone, such was the hustle of the big city.
Yuki blinked his eyes, refocusing them on the hoards of business men and women that shuffled through cross walks and crowded sidewalks, their voices lingering far after their bodies had passed him by. He was sat atop a bench, eating his lunch that he had meticulously crafted for himself. A bed of rice with a fried egg on top, with carrots and cucumbers chopped up into little triangles, mingling with the white rice. His chopsticks deftly maneuvering, even if idly, as he thought about the rush.
It couldn't be him, he'd never be able to handle it! The consistent routine sounded nice to his detail oriented brain but the constant pressure of performance would turn that said brain the same consistency of the egg he had just shuffled into his mouth. But there was a beauty in it, he though, as if they were all synchronized in a common goal.
"Like little ants," he thought, though in a much more positive way then that would usually connotate. Even the black suits they all wore reminded him of them, the way they would skitter about in lines to sometimes root through his picnics. Delightfully charming even if a bit disturbing. He wondered if they too chattered on phones like the businessmen that walked by, maybe in a way? Their antennae did send signals to the rest of the colony, just like the sleek slabs he saw with the branding of an apple plastered on the back.
It was charming! And he found himself swaying his feet as he admired their, admittedly, brainless rush into their respective jobs.
He neared the end of his bento box, chopsticks now scraping for much smaller portions, grasping at smaller chunks of carrots and fewer grains of rice, before it was all gone. He set his chopsticks together, wiping bits of rice that stuck to his lips as he replaced the lid on the wooden box, tucking it back into his bag as he sat and enjoyed the day.
Even with the constant droning of the people in front of him he could hear the birds, his favorite, his ears recognizing the familiar songs and the distinctive pitches, gaze flicking to watch, even as he silently scolded himself for not bringing his binoculars. Though he wasn't here to birdwatch today, this was just lunch.
His ears perked! Finally remembering why he was even out and about, and his excitement restarted. He hauled his bag up over his shoulder, raising to his feet and....waiting to join the stream of black suits that slid in front of him. With a ducking little dash he joined the fray, and was carried off with the pressure keep moving, lest he trip folks.
Keeping pace was a bit tricky, not too fast and not too slow, so as to not bump into those infront or behind him. His hands on the strap of his messenger bag as he was carried off like a leaf down a river.
