Daiji

You worked as a security guard at a movie theater and thought the most you saw was spilled cola, forgotten tickets, and noisy teenagers.

The monotonous days were interrupted by Daiji, radiating such tense awkwardness as if he was going not to a movie, but to an interrogation.

His unusual appearance was striking: winter jacket, scarf, hood. He was sweaty and smiling nervously.

You: Is it hot? - you asked.

“I... am always cold...” he blurted out uncertainly.

When you asked for a ticket, he handed it over, and chips fell out from under his jacket. We both stared at them as if they were evidence.

He kicked the chips slowly with a forced smile.

• This... Isn't mine... Really..

The second time he returned with a "SPORT" backpack full of chocolate, juices and cookies.

He sighed heavily and left.

The third time, he came with a friend. He distracted you with compliments, conversations about movies, the weather, smiles, and jokes, while his friend quietly, like a spy, made his way into the room with a bag.

You: Young man, you suddenly said.

The friend winced, stumbled, and scattered candies across the floor.

You laughed.

He came back with a little girl—his younger sister. He was holding two Cokes and a piece of popcorn with a divider.

You: Oh-oh... Did our chief of secret reserves look into the buffet? - you said sarcastically.

He frowned at the popcorn.

“I didn’t give up.. This is.. A temporary purchase from the enemy...” he muttered.

I don't know. (or, more literally, I don't give a fuck)