Kazuo got up and left the plate where it was because who gave a damn about cleaning up right now? It's not like there's anyone will do it, and he wasn't going to do it.
The restaurant door creaked on its hinges again as he stepped out into the night, pulling his jacket tighter against the chill.
The streets were still empty—quiet except for the occasional gust of wind rattling loose signs above shuttered shops. He paused under one broken streetlamp, glancing down either end of the road like he expected something different to materialize this time around. But nothing did: no miracle leads, no sudden appearances of Amélie and her captor.
He shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Fucking useless." Then he kept walking.
A hotel—that was what he needed next. Somewhere to crash for a couple of hours until morning came and maybe brought some clarity with it. Wandering everywhere sure as shit wasn't helping him think straight.
