[Mamimi is clutching a bag of old bread]
Naota: My brother, I mean - how much do you like him?
Mamimi: It’s hard.
Naota: You saw the sign at our bakery, that bread’s old.
Mamimi: Or like a panda with a mean face, or like sandals with pressure points drawn on them, or the smell of a blackboard eraser, or a Sunday morning where you wake up and it’s raining. Well, I like him more than hard bread.