Chilling At The Arcade

Tokyo is never not busy, but sometimes it lulls. Like an ocean when the waves aren’t crashing but the bottomless power of the gloom is about to find another swell.

We’re between rush hours. The fishing boats are out slogging and we’re bobbing by the beach. Roll up on your pushbike, keeping lazy for the heat. Lock up, bag from basket, efficient, not hurried, no fluster. Don’t sweat more than necessary.

Tuck into the aircon pocket of the arcade and sit in the chilled-solid cigarette odour. Slot a coin and crack your vending-machine ice tea.