A small town in the suburbs of Tokyo was owned and run by one corporation.
Most in habitants there were working for it.
Around the time to alternate from nightshift to the dayshift, I came out of a house.
In the silent, bluish dim light of dawn, I heard fearful cry of a baby boy from the house opposite to mine. Nevertheless, I started to walk to work.
I saw a girl around the corner, cutting a blank space lengthwise and crosswise with a scissors which was about the size of her arms.　
Then I realized that the street seemed to be just like a piece of illustration this morning.
It wasn’t windy around, but the surface of a fountain in the park was making ripples.

The work station never ceased with operations around the clock, so even at five in the morning, the place was overflowing with life.
As I reached my yard, I looked for a friend of mine all over the building.
In a room with a high stack of papers, I found her still working from the night before.
I ran to her and said, “I’m scared of the witching hour”.
(10/23/00)