Watanabe was a man of routines — more of them than most people would consider necessary. Every morning he walked to Provisional Green Space No. 7 (Morning Type) in the Eridania District of Mars and stayed until eleven-thirty.

He didn’t do much there. He sat on a bench, watched the nine o’clock fountain, and left. Then again, the park itself disappeared at noon, so eleven-thirty was less a personal choice than a deadline. The grass, the fountain, the benches — all of it rose out of the ground at six a.m. and was stowed away at twelve sharp. The afternoon version, apparently, had never received funding.

Matsuda worked in the Eridania District Parks Office and was responsible for managing this particular provisional green space. His job was mainly writing the monthly usage report. For three years running, he had typed “1” in the visitor count field. His supervisor would stick a “Candidate for Closure” note on the report every time he saw the number. Matsuda would peel it off. Then it would happen again.

Matsuda knew perfectly well that the single visitor was Watanabe. On his morning rounds they exchanged nods, and genuine conversation had happened maybe twice. Once when Watanabe asked, “The fountain’s at nine, right?” and once when Matsuda asked, “Do you come every day?” Apparently both of them found that sufficient.

In April of this year, the parks budget was expanded. Matsuda filed a request to upgrade Provisional Green Space No. 7 to full-day operation. It was approved without a fuss.

Starting in May, the park stopped disappearing. The grass stayed green all day. The fountain ran into the evening. Watanabe stopped coming on the third day.

Two weeks passed. The bench sat empty. The visitor count in the monthly report became “0.” Matsuda’s supervisor stuck on the “Candidate for Closure” note. This time Matsuda didn’t take it down.

He couldn’t quite help himself. He looked up Watanabe’s address in the registry and went to see him.

“Um — you haven’t been coming to the park.”

Watanabe thought about it for a moment. “It’s open in the afternoon now, isn’t it.”

“Yes. We upgraded it to full-day.”

“Then I’m fine.”

”…Fine meaning —”

Watanabe scratched the back of his head. “It was good when it was only mornings. It wraps up at noon, you know. Gives you a reason to go home.”

Matsuda was quiet for a bit.

“Without the afternoon, you lose your reason to leave?”

“I just drift on forever if there’s no cutoff,” Watanabe said, with a look that suggested he was aware of how this sounded.

Matsuda walked back to the office, drew two lines through “Full-Day” on the budget application, and wrote “Morning Only” in its place. His supervisor asked why he was reverting it. “Based on usage data,” Matsuda said.

The following month, Provisional Green Space No. 7 went back to being a morning-only park. The visitor count in the monthly report reads “1” again.