Tokyo.
Matsuo entered a deserted alley.
He looked like crap. All the color had drained from his face, leaving him with a creepily waxy skin texture. The bags under his eyes were so heavy they touched the top of his cheeks. He looked like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown.
He set his pet carrier on the ground.
Momo was inside.
He considered unzipping it and letting the cat out, but thought better of it.
"Momo, be good and stay here, alright? I'm sure you'll be adopted in no time," he said to the bag.
Then, he left.
The following days felt like a reprieve. It was like the sun had finally peeked through the clouds that had darkened his life with despair.
