TCP 19 - Akihabara

Automobiles pass along Showa Dori, sending their gnarling ruckus across, throughout, and beyond the nights stale backdrop. Drills of a nearby construction scream away, taking advantage of the night's calmness as their realm of creation. Footsteps of the tired, the beat, the drunk, the playful, pitter-patter across a bridge, the serenity of the below river amplifying the night's silence. Among the human percussive polyrhythms, a particular set of footsteps comes, not with a conquering force, but rather a sliding drear, marching to the audio foreground. He strolls, oblivious - whether intentionally or not, through this particular night's mayhem, tranquility, confusion, and methodology, his nose fastened to the pages of a manga. His thoughts surpass the moment, beyond the speeding cars and rippling lights upon the calmly flowing water, attaining, creating, destroying infinite worlds in synch with each and every step.