the end.

Then an idea, like a million iron particles, rushed to his head, suddenly.

He knew what he had to do, and that he had to do it now.

He got off the train at Parliament, walked to the ground via that escalator ride that took forever to finish, sounds of mechanical rotations and collision getting louder and more violent. He was deaf. He could hear everything and then nothing, like himself submerged in the depth of the oceans and he could not breath but hearing the whole world imploding into him.

And then there Mr. Kenichi saw the man, at entrance D right at the bottom of the Windsor hotel, he saw the man. A beautiful street, he thought, embraced by works of the neoclassical and baroque, the Victorian and the Gothic revival, a street of a glamorous past, before Melbourne was raped off the throne.

Then, having picked up his speed on the man, Mr. Kenichi pulled out the bottle of wine from his bag, and gave the head a blow with all the strength he ever had. The man fell onto the hard blue stone floor, unconscious.

What a beautiful night. He thought. I can still make it to dinner. All there's left to do now, is to fill in the blanks.