For three consecutive days, Abe had encountered the same girl. Every morning, she would board the train with her friends, stop by the vending machine just to buy the same drink, white milk. They would chat for a moment while waiting for the train, and meanwhile, the girl would sneak glances at the seat beside the vending machine in a mischievous way.
Abe no longer knew what was real and what was imagination. It felt as though he had stepped into a trap and willingly let himself be swallowed by it, ending up completely defeated. He would sit beside the vending machine with one leg crossed, holding a different canned drink each day. And strangely, the coffee he used to complain about had started to taste good lately.
At night, Abe would return home at the same hour. He would choose the sam
