A nightwalk from Shinjuku to Ginza

My body’s still smarting since I’ve only gotten about two and a half hours of sleep but I have a date with Hokusai this afternoon, which I’ve waited seventeen years for, so let’s get on with this, shall we?

Yesterday evening, I found myself dining in Kabukichō, as one does. By the end of it, I had the option to either take the metro back (which is always a divine experience, by the way, but more on that some other time) or walk back. I chose the latter, as I usually do.

As the crow flies, the distance from that restaurant to my bed was about 7.3 km, about a two hour walk. By the time I made it back, I had walked for about 13.5 km and taken about six and a half hours. This is the story.

Well, there is no story, really. I just walked. Clicked pictures. Sat down on benches to read Miyazawa Kenji. Scoured for places along the way that might pour me some Yamazaki (because, why not). Listened to a lot of Radiohead. Sat down at the corner of the Imperial Palace to write a letter, drawing unwanted attention from a security guard who didn’t know any English. Prayed all by myself at an Inari shrine, purified myself with a bell. Went looking for free wifi only to watch Lewandowski miss a penalty kick. Perused shop windows of luxury boutiques (an occupational hazard). Found myself a waffle, which feel appropriately-sized in this country. Almost got sideswiped by a blue Lamborghini (not a bad way to go, though I’d pick a yellow one). Wrote two poems, or at least tried to.

Took a lot of photos during the course of the night, so I’m pulling some together. As amazing as my new phone is at capturing stuff at night (my old one was too old to click anything after dusk so anything that can is a godsend), I’m still coming to terms with it. This might just be the quickest turnaround ever in my life for a photo essay and I feel highly uncomfortable with the thought of it all, but here’s to pushing through.

That’s it for now, I’ve got to rush.

Hokusai’s waiting.