Six is the number of trees in Roppongi (the kanji for the area literally reads "six trees"). Three sixes is the number of the beast, as everyone knows. And I've often thought that if you tripled the amount of mayhem to be found in Roppongi on any given night, you'd have a rough approximation of hell.
The concept of a quiet bar in Roppongi is almost perverse. But, one night as dawn slowly edged toward the horizon, I found myself in the heart of the beast and in need of a quiet, soothing place for a drink. All the bars along the strip that were still serving were alternately pumping out hard rock or hard trance through their speakers onto the street. Walking into one of those would have been like sticking my finger into a wall socket. No thanks.
I also wasn't in the mood for stuffy piano bars. I wanted something cooler than that. And just as I was beginning to think that I'd have to buy a can of beer at a convenience store and sit at the bus stop, suddenly the penny dropped. I remembered Zion -- a reggae bar that I had been to once, a few years ago, down by the Forum Building. So off I headed. And low and behold, if I didn't find my favorite African street tout outside waiting for the elevator.