A dry wind blowing through, signaling the end of summer, as I returned home after a long time. It had been two years since my last visit, and I'd just arrived at the nearest station—a run-down stop fifteen minutes away by car. With buses running only once an hour, walking wasn't an option. I contacted my ex-boyfriend and asked him to pick me up. Chatting about old memories on the way, we reached his place, and as a gesture of thanks, we had sex. Sweating heavily, we took a bath together, said our goodbyes, then I cracked open canned food and beer, indulging in my own lazy, carefree state. By chance, I stumbled upon a slightly erotic video on my phone, my eyes glazing over as I gave in to masturbation. I spent the day in crude, unrestrained pleasure, eventually dozing off. The next morning, I went for a walk to the beach, zoning out for about three hours. Once I grew bored, I headed back and unexpectedly ran into my ex from yesterday. We ended up having sex again. After that, the days repeated like a rerun—drinking beer, masturbating, then falling asleep. Two rounds of sex, two sessions of masturbation, eight cans of beer. The only thing I took back with me was a 24-color pencil set I found at the front of the room. Maybe I'll try drawing when I get back to Tokyo. Photo book available here