Feeling slightly nauseated by the swaying metro carriage, I try to soothe my thoughts by listening to Ennio Morricone’s Love Theme over the pounding echo of the train’s movement. The overpowering moan of the wind and sound of small talk envelopes me.
Walking through the all-too-familiar streets of Akasaka, I try not to trip, or bump into a stranger as I type this note. The blurred, overcrowded shop signs overhead are what I see when I look skywards.
I decide to turn into a backroad, sick of the people walking absentmindedly in the street. I walk towards a small shrine and then turn left, and stop. I feel a small burst of elation when I come across a small alleyway which is most probably dismissed and ignored by the many onlookers that pass by.
Biting through rice and some sort of white fish wound with a thread of seaweed, the excruciatingly bitter and painful taste of wasabi crawls through my nose, and lingers.
Wound up in an unusual situation, I sit between two drunk people. Drowning in drunk slurs of attempted conversation, I try not to breathe too heavily – trying to avoid the sickly smell of alcohol and ill-fated conversations.