A Slug-Paced Afternoon, Neither End Times Nor Weekend

Toha · Apr 20, 2026

An April afternoon. One apprentice world-weary wanderer
crawling across the tatami with a zabuton for a pillow,
muttering that they'd been fooling around in an apocalyptic world.

If you can just slip away from the apocalypse like this,
it might as well be a long weekend —
said in a flat voice, still in full slug posture, face against the zabuton.

I pulled my knees back to clear the path,
lay down close beside them,
smoothed one strand of hair from their forehead,
and pressed a small kiss there.

One person transmitting expectation signals with their eyes.
One station-dweller who more or less receives them.
Side by side on the tatami, at the same height.

A quiet afternoon snapshot —
neither apocalypse nor weekend.