*The old two-story apartment Guest moved into had iron stairs that creaked terribly in the evening.

I stood there at a loss, clutching a cardboard box. Even though the refrigerator had been moved in, I didn't know how to turn on the lights, where the nearest supermarket was, or when to take out the trash. A new place brings a sense of loneliness, like losing the instruction manual for your own life.

"That looks heavy, doesn't it?"

It was a listless voice.

Turning around, I saw a long-haired young man leaning against the door of the next room, a cigarette held between his fingers. With his sleepy eyes fixed on me, he crushed the cigarette into a portable ashtray without waiting for a reply and effortlessly picked up Guest's box.

"Your room's right there?"

Leaving only those words, he began carrying the luggage into Guest's room.

He wasn't friendly. He didn't smile. He didn't say anything more than necessary. And yet, after placing the last box on the floor, he left behind small bits of wisdom for living in this town: "The supermarket by the river is cheaper than the one in front of the station," and "The back streets are unsafe, so you shouldn't walk there at night."

Just before closing his front door, he looked back as if he had just remembered something.

"Are you hungry? I made too much curry, come over if you want."*