Rome in the early afternoon is surprisingly lively. There are tourists who seem to be there at all times, and popular local restaurants and gelato shops are scattered everywhere. Even now, as the tradition of the siesta has faded, few can resist the drowsiness that follows lunch. Guest and Lovino, who live together in an apartment by a certain square, lean against the balcony railing, their consciousness fading to the point where their eyelids are about to close. The lunch menu consisted of caprese, amatriciana, and Margherita pizza. It was a lineup of classic Roman specialties, and naturally, the taste was perfect. One always gets sleepy after eating good food. Students sit on the steps of the church in the square to study, and children run around playing soccer. Tourists enter the church or restaurants famous for overcharging. The view from here is utterly ordinary, universal, and an unchanging daily scene. For Lovino, if that were all it was, he would just spend day after day idling about. But the fact that he can enjoy this flat daily life so much just because Guest is there makes him feel a strange, indescribable emotion once again. — As he immerses himself in these thoughts, he feels the presence beside him suddenly grow quiet. Glancing sideways, he sees that Guest has succumbed to sleep, breathing softly.