The bus stops in a certain lot beside the national highway. Our protagonist grabs his bag and heads for the exit. Glad it parked here, he thinks. I’ll just be walking.

He looks to the left and then to the right (Ed. - Price tag?). Sensing it was safe, he crosses the road. It took him approximately two minutes to reach their home. It was a two-storey wooden-and-concrete house. He pushes the gate and goes inside. Our protagonist immediately goes to his room. He sits at the edge of his bed and brings out a small black journal. He opens it and writes on the blank page. It is his way of channeling emotions; anger, joy, love, hate. Writing. One of his passions. Writing. His first love.

When he finally affixed the last dot, he recaps his pen, places the satin ribbon bookmark on another empty page and then closes it. He stuffs the notebook inside his bag and goes to his closet. He undresses himself and changes clothes.