(something in nogawa park a few days ago)

A woman doesn't keep her diary on top of her pillow. It isn't neat like every other thing in her room, I imagine. So where does it go? In the wastebasket, I imagine seeing the binding of a book stretched by clumsily gathered papers (hundreds) sandwiched between covers. I walk over to the waste basket to investigate my hallucination - My hands are carefully lifting used tissues away like dead skin from someone's body. Beneath the tissues there are lots of things - crumpled receipts, old assignments, a plastic bread bag, empty pill packets, empty beer cans, empty deodorant, this is all typical. Near the bottom, after carefully emptying half of the waste bin, the hallucination occurs again. I see a corner of some think paper cover. From my crotch a surge runs upward, through my body like carbonation and fizzles over my eyes and in my ears. I throw the waste can over like a lever and the whole loot within sprawls the room, sliding across the tacky green tiles stained by dirty feet no doubt. But not everything has been thrown into the room. Something remains in the waste basket. At the bottom, a flat stone. There, at that moment, I heard a noise and had to escape the way I came in. Afraid that someone was coming, I couldn't clean up.