The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

6
THE CHANGE of shifts came at nine. Tōru left
the chocolates for his successor. The weather
forecasters had gone astray. It was a beautifully clear
day. The sun as he waited for his bus was too bright
for eyes that had not had enough sleep.
The road off toward the Sakurabashi station of the
Shimizu Railroad had once gone through paddies, but
they had all been filled in and subdivided. The bright
flats were a tasteless jumble of new shops, like Main
Street in an American country town. Getting off the
bus, Tōru turned left across a brook. Beyond was the
two-story apartment house where he lived.
He went up a stairway with a blue awning and
opened the door at the end of the second floor.
It was as he had left it, neat and tidy, two rooms with
kitchen, six mats and four-and-a-half mats, dim
behind shutters. Before he opened the shutters he
went to turn on the heater for the bath. He had a bath
of his own, albeit a small one, heated by propane.
Worn out from looking, Tōru, who had no
occupation but to look, leaned against the windowsill
to the northwest and looked at the Sunday-morning