It was near center of Sapporo, the room in the back of the house he had lived where I met Mr.H.
Old films of dry plates are left in that house fixed to be pulled down already surrounded some furniture left.
After dusting some films off carefully, when I watched that films through sunlights, I felt Mr.H appearing. And even old small scars on the wall seemed to become vivid little by little,as if they were sights Mr.H left.I was moved to inherit some memories from Mr.H and his house.
Day goes by, someday that memories of Mr.H and his house might disappear completely too. A house is where engraves small history in own small box, Starts to whisper the small tale. After Mr.H and his house had disappeared, I became the house itself.