A random Monday in November, a random route around the city. We walk & talk as we always do, our autopilot instructed by both a sense & an aversion to the familiar. We walk backwards into Shibuya & before the noise & the neon we find music & marching. It's a parade for who knows what. Technicolour uniforms, majorettes & twirling battons.
It's things like this; these wonderful random, meaningless yet meaningful idiosyncrasies that make me remember why I love Tokyo.
The band eventually passes into the night. It leaves behind no memory of it's tune only the warm afterglow of some bit of magic. Smiling, we press on into the noise & the neon that awaits.
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