His small palms slammed against the old taiko drum material and after a pause, he repeated his movement. It was his method of distraction, rather than playing with other children.

He watched them pass by from his seat but kept sitting in his clutter of old clothes, his senses staring at his surroundings, from the roughness of his hands, the tears of his yukata and the confused conversations of people, he could not help it.

He looked up, curious why you approached. He kept his silence.