[ There's nobody there when he walks in. There's a radio playing quietly atop one of her dressers, but Yuzu isn't there. Neither are a lot of her things. The closet is open, scattered accessories along the floor, dresses that slipped off their hangers, but the bar itself is bereft of wardrobe. The bottles she kept on the bureau, gone. The case for her viola is still propped against one of the walls, and small knickknacks still litter many of the flat surfaces. Her bookcase is only halfway emptied, and all the dried wreathes and bouquets still hang from the walls.
no subject
A hurried move, but still in progress. ]