He recalls - sometimes when he feels particularly melancholic and nostalgic, sipping coffee from building rooftops - that life once seemed so long to him.
He had dreams and goals that seemed so far away and out of reach and then with a blink, it was suddenly a new scene - newspapers all screaming 'suicide' and 'tragedy' - and he realizes life is so - so - so - very short indeed.
Seven days of hell passed - a new goal and a sudden decision - because there's no way in hell he's ever going back - and then he's standing still.
Only a couple of blinks have passed but a million deaths have passed in hisShibuya. Everything changes - new facestrendsfashionsfriends - and in a way, nothing does. He still watches from building rooftops, staring at people below - their lives are passing by so quickly and so fast, so fast, much faster than they ever bargained for.
He blinks and there's a boy - loudly screaming hatred and quietly whispering loneliness.
Another short blink and now there's a man to replace the boy - no headphones this time, no barriers - and there's a smile on his face - once so out of place, but now it fits so perfectly.
Just a few more blinks - just one or two, so short and fleeting - and the man is forever gone and completely faded. Now the observer is alone - so very alone - always alone - more alone than the boy ever was.
He sips coffee as he watches from building rooftops and - so slowly hesitantly terrified to miss something - he b l i n k s
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