Dance at the Dark

Yeah, I wear moccasins and a check shirt. Glasses. A look that says don’t bother looking. Spend life head-down, blanking some black hole on my heels.

But wait till I get on the dance rush. People gaaawp gop! Stop in their tracks and stop, stare.

What is this angel? Who is this spirit painting space?

Twinkling my toes up some crystal walkway at an unexplained black hole in the lightscape. The music pours out of it. I face the void and dance.

In ¥200 bursts until I have to go home.

Photographer and writer covering Tokyo arcade life – the videogames, the metropolis and the people