Fade In:  A Fast Food Joint, not that one…your favorite one…the one with the malts.  Dusk.  Summer.  Mosquito on your hip.

A young salary man wearing a dark grey suit and a Hanshin Tigers baseball cap is spitting sunflower seeds into an empty green beer bottle.  He is sitting cross-legged on the curb staring at a moth on the illuminated menu above his head.

He takes out a pen and writes this on the illuminated menu:

“I don’t know when it exactly started, but I’m divorced now…I mean MY mom gave it to me…I kept my spare change in it…I…I guess I didn’t really need it…I realize now, as I write this… I should have cleaned up after the fire a bit more…the least I could’ve done is swept up the ashes.”

(whilst writing this, he manages to order 2 cheeseburgers with extra pickles, an order of onion rings and a hot fudge malted milk shake through the rusty telecom- receiver -metal box- thing)

He puts the red marker back into his suit coat pocket and walks around the corner to pick up his food from the lady at the window.