The first thing you notice are the rats — skinny, hungry — munching greedily on the night’s leftovers. You can almost hear them squeak as they fight for morsels.

Not far is a drunken hobo. He lies on the pavement, unconscious, his buttocks exposed. His shoes are gone. His feet are pointed at you, dark and dirty. He probably has not washed for days. There is a third man nearby, smiling and oblivious to the surrounding chaos. He holds a cigarette in his left hand, a bottle of alcohol in the other. He is all mirth, taking it all in as if it were just another burlesque evening performance. This is Tokyo, but not the one you know.

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