Gaz: Big in Japan

I like Fridays. I think Friday’s are universally loved. Even back when I worked in retail and I had to work every saturday, I still liked Fridays. The prospect of weekends off increases they’re natural oozing charm even further. Fridays are also the day that Mr. Guitar comes to Misato. Mr. Guitar is a man that only me and the music teacher can see. Mr. Guitar (so named because he plays the guitar) turns up every Friday morning like clockwork, sits on the desk next to me and chats for about 40 minutes or so about anything, life in Japan, politics, the price of gasoline, pizza whatever the topic is. He’s one of those remarkable people with whom conversation comes very easy, regardless of the conversation partner. After 40 minutes or so, he’ll stand up, say goodbye and leave, having done nothing except chat with me for a while. I feel like Gaius Baltar, does no one else see him? What is his purpose?! I’ve never been given a name and as far as I can see the only person he’s ever exchanged words with aside from me is the music teacher.