In the afternoon on a weekday, I visited a classmate from junior high school.
He was in a facility for people with disabilities.
It was my first time going there.
I drove east on the national highway that runs through the Kanto Plain from east to west.
Warehouses and material storage areas are dotted on both sides of the road.
There was a field between warehouses.
There are no houses.
As I drove, inorganic buildings disappeared behind me.
After driving for about an hour, I turned onto a narrow side road from the national highway.
A local man was walking down a narrow street and stared at me.
I turned down a side street and came to a place where many old houses were built.
The smell of the Showa era wafted through the block walls, darkened by years of dirt.
The facility where my friend lived suddenly appeared in my field of vision.
The building is two stories high and looks like a large apartment.
I called out to the fat female employee at the entrance.
The woman put the slippers on the floor.
I took off my shoes and changed into slippers.
The hallway is wide and the ceiling lights are not on.
My friend’s room is 103.
I arrived in front of the room.
The room door was open.
My friend was leaving the bathroom.
I met my friend for the first time in 5 years.
He looked better than I expected.