EVER SINCE TORU passed away, he’d been trying to find his way home. It wasn’t easy. In the first place, he didn’t belong here. This was a strange city where he was barely familiar with the language. He’d only lived here for about eight months when the car came out of nowhere in the middle of the night as he’d walked home from work, his meagre pay tucked into his coat pocket. In the second place, his death came to him in waves. A few times a day, it surprised him, interrupting his endless wanderings. 

It struck him in the simplest declarative way: Toru Kishida, you are dead.