Shigeru Takahashi (高橋　茂）'s Questionnaire

Shigeru lives in his idea of a perfect apartment; comically cheap rent, a mysterious absentee landlord, and close to the station. Its the first place he's been able to hold down for more than a year; a miraculous fluke considering he has been unemployed for several months.

The digs would almost feel like a prison cell, if it weren't for the towers of stacked beer cans that stand watch in three corners of the room. These cairns of habitual alcoholism flank an altar to a heavily abused laptop, cables plugged to all manners of devices as though the computer was in palliative care. Somewhere close by but never folded away is an abnormally comfortable futon, a long-lasting companion that has survived multiple career changes and crises. Anything made of cloth is washed diligently every week - the only positive habit that Shigeru has picked up (in order to hide the smell of vomit).