In clubland, regular openings and closings are a given. Bars, on the other hand, live by different rules -- longevity is proportional to the dedication of their creators. In Tokyo, a hybrid type of nightspot has evolved (and multiplied, because they fit well in the big city). You could call them mini-clubs, but that sounds too grand. And, hence, they are usually called DJ bars. You can sit, or you can dance. What you can't have is much room to move. Even if a space is bigger than a matchbook and smaller than a breadbox, in goes a DJ bar and out goes a sign. But, until recently, they had the life-expectancy of an insect.
Ma-chan has seen it all in 23 years as master of 328.328 (San-Ni-Pa) is an exception. It has survived for 23 years, during which dozens of cool little DJ bars have failed. A couple of years before it opened, three girls were raped and murdered by boys they met in a disco, and, as a result, dancing after midnight was made illegal -- illegal, that is, without a license. But a license is expensive and requires heavyweight guarantors. And most of the independent operators who are tempted to open a night spot can barely muster the key money for the space. Therefore, you still find tables and chairs butting into the only available dance space in an already insanely small "club." They are the remnants of camouflage.