Three Days of Happiness

165
“And? Who’s gonna read it?”
“Dunno. Doesn’t really matter. Writing it helps me sort things out. I
can move things around to more logical places, like a defrag.”
Even late into the night, my hand wouldn’t be stilled. It was far from
being beautiful prose, but I was surprised how smoothly I could
write.
After twenty-two hours, I finally came to a sudden halt. I didn’t feel
I could write any more today.
I put the fountain pen on the table and went to get some fresh air.
The man begrudgingly got up and followed behind me.
Walking around aimlessly outside, I heard a taiko drum from
somewhere. Practice for a festival, probably.
“Since you’re an observer, you sold your time too?”, I turned and
asked the man.
“If I said yes, would ya sympathize with me?”, the man snorted with
laughter.
“Yeah, I would.”
The man looked at me with surprise. “...Well, I’d like to tell ya I’m
grateful, but truth is I didn’t sell no lifespan, no time, no health. I do
this job ‘cause I want to.”
“Bad taste. What’s so fun about it?”
“Didn’t say it was fun. It’s sorta like visiting people’s graves. I’m
gonna die someday. Might as well experience as much death as I
can so I can accept it.”
“Sounds like an old man’s idea.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I am old,” the man said.