In life, sometimes there appear such places that seem like they’ve been made at your request.

Although you haven’t placed this request anywhere.

No, we ain’t gonna stoop to the ‘seen in dreams’ thing, though suddenly: you’re walking and looking around, and you notice yet only a building, you don’t even know if there’s something inside; you just look at the walls, at the city around these walls that is woven into a sort of perfect knotty broth, and at the sky, traffic lights, rain, street – and you know for sure: you have to enter it and try.

“You see, Jude, in life, sometimes nice things happen to good people. You don’t need to worry – they don’t happen as often as they should.” (c)

Here again: it doesn’t happen as often as it should.

From the entrance to the upper tiny cubbyhole with books floating under the ceiling, for some reason there’re some Russian ones among them; from a tray of fruits: to choose/make a cocktail on your own, up to the last spoon of spinach and persimmon curry – everything/everything here is for me.

It’s dark, and Portishead is playing, and then Sinatra, and some Japanese covers; it’s all playing from the best of the best B&W signature speakers from the late 90’s, the white plastic of which has become creamy.

There’re some narrow stairs, sand blind bulbs, and it’s dark again.

It’s open from 19 to 28 according to the local bohemian fashion; that’s how it’s common on the block.

It’s whether a bar or a restaurant, or a bohemian den. There’re foreigners and locals,  talks on art, design and stuff are creeping around in whisper.

It’s hyper-cozy decadence.

Lame menu: India, Greece, deep fried Camembert, Tom Yam noodles… and damn, despite you’re in the very heart of the city, and the huge Roppongi Hills cuts open the night with its lights – you get the feeling that you’re inside a Miyazaki animation about fox-demos and trees reaching the sky and the painted blue sky itself.

And why? – hell knows, but this feeling eats into you to the joints. You can’t get rid of it.

To me, it’s the true soul of Tokyo; no matter how uncool it is to write down such sonorous letters.

I’ll be back; as many times as I’m in the CITY.

Amen.