A suffocating weight pressed down on me as my routine unraveled, turning the mundane into something monumental. My throbbing tooth amplified my discomfort as the walls closed in. I needed to walk it off.

Stepping outside, I strolled a few blocks, passing a group loitering on the street. Their darting eyes radiated tension and restlessness. I wanted to avoid their murmurs. “Stay the hell away from me,” I thought, quickening my pace and gripping my camera tightly.

The streets buzzed with the usual crowd around the bus stop; the air was thick with an unpleasant stench. Irritating mopeds whizzed by, likely from the same assholes who woke me up in the middle of the night.

I saw a heavyset guy getting shoved out of a seafood shop, shirtless, and hurling what appeared to be a bag of clams onto the street while hollering in a loud, unintelligible shout.

“Yeah, you and me both, brah,” I muttered.

As he screamed, the scene felt like it froze in slow motion before everyone quickly resumed their routines, as if to say, “What’s new?” I began framing shots, capturing the vibrant chaos of the streets—sunlight glinting off buildings, glimmers dancing on windows. This was my escape from the daily grind.

Hours slipped by under the oppressive October sun, and my stomach growled, a stark reminder of reality. Ironic? The only truth I could rely on was my hunger. I ducked into an udon shop, where the rich scent of broth enveloped me like a warm embrace. As I savored my noodles, questions swirled in my mind: How long can I keep this up? When will I break free from this cycle?

Eating, once a simple pleasure, had become a distraction. I sat with my thoughts, feeling a gnawing unease. With a deep sigh, I leaned back, letting my frustration lift, if only slightly. I grabbed my camera again, ready to capture the world—messy, chaotic, and real. It was far from the clarity I sought, and the weight of my responsibilities still loomed, but at that moment, it felt enough.

Damn it, I need to cut back on these carbs!