Walking through the streets of Tokyo was like weaving in and out of tapestry. The bustling of the main roads, like bursts of color weaving in and out of tapestry. The eerie tranquility of the silent alleyways, like the finest details.
I could walk down those alleyways a thousand times and I would always find something new. A flyer for an unknown band floating around the metal gates that concealed families, friends, feelings. A tricycle, abandoned next to a street lamp, leaning against it as if there was any shelter to be offered.
Then, when you got closer to the end, the sound of Tokyo would emerge again, dampened by the somberness of the alley. Creeping towards it, adrenalin could not be avoided. A rush and suddenly, I was swept away by limbs and torsos.
Following the flow, I stopped at a nearby cafe and sat down on a wicker chair. A man in a yellow suit, two typical schoolgirls. I counted how many men had mustaches. 23.
An organic cafe was next door, and out of it flowed healthy children who had more energy than I could muster. There were long-legged ladies who wore baggy pants and sun-kissed faces, disgruntled business men who scuttled away like guilty crabs, and solid, warm mothers who emanated contentment with a bouncing baby on their hip.
I began to see the people as objects rather than beings. Look, there goes a glass of milk! And to my left, a rather rotund looking pear greeting a bright yellow highlighter. Two arrows screamed past me and almost toppled over a nearby fishing rod.
It was puzzling to think that these objects made more sense to me than the humans.