this entire day's felt like a string of snapshots. one of those sets you'd see featured in a local city magazine, highlighting an up-and-coming lifestyle photographer, commending their ability to capture the mundane—well enough that you, as the audience, feel driven to linger on each listed photo just to try and spot if there's something that stands out in the frame, something special that compelled the author to immortalize a scene you routinely see every day. it's a pretty dead-on description of sakura's unceremonious return to tokyo.
there's the sun. some clouds drifting. there's the wind. trees rustling for visualization. next snapshot. there's a convenience store. there's sakura's hand holding a handful of folded bills. sakura's hand holding a plastic bag filled with groceries. nonperishables. she can't recall the store clerk's face, but she remembers a polite smile. next snapshot. a busy street. passersby blurring into a single-file on each side of her like a moving walkway. continuous wafts of strong perfume—lots of tourists in the city.
next: someone hands her a flier. she stuffs it into the bottom of her bag without a second glance.
next: she waits at the bus stop. she boards. hands a handful of coins to the driver. another polite smile.
next: another busy street, identical to the last. she's checking the time, calculating if she'll make her appointment, isn't paying attention, isn't even looking.
next: there's sakura crouched, one arm curled around her groceries and the other stretched out and gathering someone else's from the ground. it's her fault, but she's thinking about her carton of eggs. i don't need any money. no worries. you, too. sorry.
next: there's a streetside map. there's her fingers tracing streets she's never been down, ones she now has to navigate to make up for lost time.
she misses her appointment and doesn't have a second number to call.
"great." she leans against the railing opposite her unit door—her locked unit door—and resists the first impulse to drop her grocery bag to the floor just so she has both hands free to scream into. "great." the second, more insane impulse: break the door in because the unit's hers at any rate and just wait for the landlord to come by and demand she pay for the repairs. it's an enticing option, sure, especially coupled with the sensation of her blouse sticking to both her front and back because she had to break into a run to try and make that second bus she ultimately missed, but sakura's never been a quitter. that, and she's not sure how well she'd handle a verbal eviction notice in this state.
magnanimously, the third option's what she lands on. she tries the neighbors.
"hi, sorry, uh." god. her hair always sticks up when the sweat dries. she probably looks ridiculous. "i just moved in." bzzt! she flattens her palm against the side of her head, tucking a curled lock securely behind her ear. "i mean, i'm supposed to be moving in, but i can't find the landlord to give me the keys, and all these units literally look the exact same." she doesn't know if her landlord even lives here. "could i please use your phone?"
@egofang
