i think about that night a lot, or rather, about those few seconds i glimpsed: striding through quiet Tokyo streets hurriedly, head turned distractedly to the side only to catch sight of the very small, darkly golden bar, all warm wood and muted lights. no more than eight seats, three of them filled: a man with his head down, a high-heeled woman a few stools across, and another customer on the other side. coats hung on hooks, staff moving silkily and silently behind the counter. something in his posture, like emotions catching up with him, caught between people never being able to say what they want to say, frustration, love and anger, everyone staring quietly into their glasses