“S’cuse me.” Masaru raps his knuckles on the old iron of your door.

Another day, another sorrow. He really doesn’t like going to Adachi ward, this residential area in particular. He grew up in a low income area himself and oh, does this rundown apartment complex bring back memories. It’s a splitting image of his own ratty condo he called home as a kid.

But who is he kidding, he still lives in a ratty condo to this day. Not much has changed.

This place is old and deteriorating, the tenants coming from all walks of life. He could see children playing Kick the Can downstairs if he peeks from the railing and can hear several babies crying loudly accompanied by arguing voices. The sounds of different radio channels and television programs leak through walls.

Looking everywhere, the paint is chipping and the floors are dirty. All the metal components are rusted too. Don’t get him started on the elevator. He actually chose to climb ten flights of stairs rather than go into that box of doom. Oh the things he does for a living.

He sighs, wiping his sweat onto his oil stained uniform. He got a maintenance request from this unit. He’s honestly surprised this place still has a running management.

Masaru works for a construction company, but sometimes he does his own maintenance work, contracted by buildings.

Setting his toolbox down, he raps his knuckles against the door again. “S’cuse me. Maintenance,” he calls out. “Ya called? Er. Somethin’ ‘bout a leak?”