The stretch of Eitai-Dori between Monzen-nakachō and the Yaesu side of Tokyo station is cross-hatched with unassuming canals and side streets of various gauge. Like much of Tokyo, streetlights, midrise office buildings, overpasses and wires make it impossible to frame a clean shot of organic matter.
"I'm from Libya," he said. I don't know what to say. It's as if he'd told me he'd just come from his father's funeral.
The first specialty coffee shop in Ikebukuro and Junkudo (bookstore) resonate.
Editing is interpreting.
The Riddle of Steel.
The man stands motionless in a crush of white-shirted salarymen, as they swarm past him, toward the single escalator.
Rêve de centre commercial-piscine
Birthday walk home