senza without
The parts of Tokyo that Light frequents are more affluent than most, and most of the people he sees are as well-off as he is, going about their business with their heads held high. They move purposefully, a swirl of humanity around him. He notices none of them.
It's the incongruity of the homeless man that catches Light's eye.
Most people ignore him. A few glance at him, then turn away, frowning or wrinkling their noses in distaste. He pushes his heavily-laden cart along the sidewalk, seemingly oblivious to it all. Light wonders why he's here in Setagaya, and not somewhere with larger homeless population. Surely he can see everyone's reactions to him?
In truth, though he's careful to conceal it, the man's presence makes him uncomfortable.
As he passes the man, a bag drops from the top of the cart and falls to the ground with a soft plop. Smiling, Light picks it up and offers it to the man. "Here."
"Thank you," the man murmurs, taking his bag and walking on without further comment. Light watches him go for a moment, then continues toward his house, resisting the impulse to wipe his hand on his clothes.
One Thursday night, Sachiko decides to take Sayu and Light to dinner in Shinjuku. As they approach the restaurant, Light heads toward the door, intending to hold it open for the women, but a man dressed in unseasonable layers of clothes opens it for them instead. He holds a cup in one hand, and looks at them with hope in his deep-set eyes. Sayu fumbles in her purse for spare change, but Sachiko hurries her through the door with only a nod of thanks for the man.
Sayu protests until Sachiko, exasperated, agrees to allow Sayu to give the man money on their way out. But when they leave, the man is gone.