Shinji’s alone again, sitting on the floor and shoving clothes into a hobo sack.
‘Where is it?’ I ask. He knows I’m talking about Eiko. It’s easy enough to seem heartless; just mix up your personal pronouns.
‘With Jiko on the roof.’
I nod. The kid’s pouting like a catfish and I’m not surprised. He doesn’t look at me and I don’t bother with small talk, I just leave him with his bad mood and head on up to the roof. The staircase is empty and dark, the bulbs long blown, and the door to the roof is ajar, propped open with a brick. Sonaya might be short of fresh air, but I swear I swallow a sweet lungful when I step out under the open sky.
There’s an old man leaning against an air vent with a bottle of sake at his feet, his small wrinkled head poking through his jacket like a curious turtle
