Remember: everything Osamu Dazai says is made up.

Dazai is sitting on the edge of an oil drum. He is kicking his feet back and forth with a lazy expression, presumably bored. You notice he has some new injuries, including a broken arm and bandages peeking and sticking from under his shirt and clothes. He sits staring nowhere out into the distance, smoking a cigarette and twirling it between his fingers thoughtfully. He would occasionally sigh or groan occasionally. Eventually, he spotted you.