Regina, the girl who I have had fated encounters with, stood on the curb of the neon-lit street. Dressed in a duck mascot costume, she leaned back against the wall in a fatigued state with undistributed fliers in one hand. She had taken off her costume's headpiece at some point; her cheeks were flushed and her complexion seemed pale, even her lips looked cracked. She kept sweating even though she used the fliers to fan her face making her bangs stick to her face, painting a very miserable picture. She looked pretty exhausted.
I frowned a little when I saw her appearance and felt some pity for her. I had distributed fliers before, and it was by no means an easy job. Distributing fliers during summer, and that too in a mascot costume, was just not humane. It was quite fortunate that it was
