"Easy!" But it was too late. The two men carrying the sofa grimaced in unison when the glass cracked. The top of the coffee table now resembled some kind of modern art piece, a spiderweb of cracks spreading from where the leg had hit. Atsushi let out a sigh, rubbing his head as the third headache set in.

"Sorry…" The mover who spoke bit his lip in an anxious way. If it had been him and the client, this wouldn't have happened. His cohort was a terror. Just this job alone had suffered the broken table, some ripped canvases, and the loss of a dishwasher. "I'll make sure we compensate you Mr. Miyamoto. Erick, go wait in the truck…" The lumbering buffoon trundled out of the house, the sound of the U-haul's door letting the remaining two speak. "I swear to God, I'm never bringing him on a job again. Last time, he smashed a woman's set of 16th century china."

"I'm not too worried about it. Never did like that table anyway. Isn't really enough room for it." He looked around the little house equal parts glad to be finally done moving, and stressed out from the struggle of getting it done. "The biggest favor you could do me is help carry the table to the curb. I'll call and have someone pick it up tomorrow."

The sun was starting to sink as Erick and his coworker waved goodbye from their truck, leaving Atsushi to finally breathe in peace. A cool breeze drifted across the porch from the canal, tossing his hair in a half hearted way. He looked up at his little house before going inside. His boxes were stacked in corners, the only thing sitting out being his guitar, the dining table, sofa, and armchair. A cheap desk kit sat on the wall near his bedroom, inspiring a flare of migraine at the very thought of putting it together. "I'll do that latter…" He got a glass of water, leaning against the counter in thought.

He thought getting out of Bridgeport would have made things better. A new, slower paced lifestyle. A place to work on his music without harassment. But even still he was being pushed in a different direction. The call from his dad's friend offering him a customer service position was proof enough that his father still thought a music career was a wasted effort. Shi had taken the job, knowing it would be better than anything he could have found on his own, but he did so with no enthusiasm. He started the day after tomorrow, on Monday. He texted one of his friends, letting her know he had gotten there safe. He made his way into the bedroom and flopped onto the mattress. A few springs dug into his stomach. He grumbled, shifting to a slightly more comfortable spot. It took a few more minutes to get to sleep. Outside, the sound of frogs drifted from the canal and pond like a small town lullaby.