Chapter 4: I’m Adapting
After I started going toward the apartment complex every day for freshly made hot dogs, I found myself digging through other trash bins less and less.
No, lately, I’d even started to think there was no need to dig through trash at all.
The reason was... complicated.
After being hounded with complaints because I kept showing up, the cop finally told the apartment residents that I was an esper.
Their reactions softened, if only a little, and groundless rumors began to spread.
That I was a powerful esper who fled due to PTSD. That I’d lost a lover to a monster {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} and suffered cognitive damage. That I used to live in this apartment and lost a child to a monster in some incident, losing the will to live.
The fact that I kept coming to the park, that I didn’t move an inch when children approached, and the claim that I was an esper—all of that seemed to push people to craft their own "reasonable" narratives, creating a sort of sympathy.
According to whispered conversations, some people even said they didn’t mind watching me wash.
Liking to watch someone bathe... what a strange hobby.
“Um... just use this faucet, okay?”
“Mm.”
“The other faucets are for the kids, so don’t touch those!”