Flights of Fancy

Shouldering my way forward through the oncoming crowd, I cross the road and step into a lively alley lit bright with neon signs and flushed faces. The hustle and bustle of Tokyo is accentuated on this narrow street overflowing with restaurants, bars, and night clubs. After a hectic day at work, all sorts of people swarm to this place from throughout the city, packing into their preferred nooks like canned sardines.
Adjusting the thick wool scarf around my neck, I am swallowed by a flock of businessmen filing out of a Shinkansen train station, chattering with fellow employees and loosening their formal neck ties. Ahead of me, a man in a navy blue suit laughs at a joke I didn't catch, his warm breath forming white clouds that are whisked away into the night. I bumble along behind them, glad for the sturdy wall of shoulders in front of me, providing protection from the chilly headwind. The party enters a dimly lit restaurant, the noise of drunken laughter spilling through the door and into the busy street.
As I pass the dark restaurant, I nearly collide with a pair of young women rushing out of a tea house, wearing traditional geisha makeup and giggling, probably on their way to another party. I turn, wanting to get a closer look at their intricate silk kimonos, but the bright yellow and red hues have already rounded a corner and disappeared from view. I marvel at the smells coming from the restaurants, my mouth watering. The noise of laughter and chatter from different eateries blends with that of others, creating a pleasant hum.
The sound of the sizzling grill and friendly conversation envelops me as I push open the door of my favorite restaurant. The place is jam-packed as usual, and I wait in line for a seat next to the bar-like open kitchen. Tables and chairs litter the tiny room, evenly clustered with customers. A woman in a maroon sweater is shoveling rice into her kids' bowls; a party of four is laughing heartily over cups of sake; three young men in school uniforms are discussing their classes. The walls are painted a light brown color and dark wooden beams are placed along at even intervals. There is space for only two paintings - a portrait of a beautiful geisha with white facial makeup and bright red lips, and an equally stunning watercolor painting of a Sakura tree in a gentle wind. There is nothing out of the ordinary with the small eatery, save for the luscious flavors on the menu. A tall man shuffles past me and leaves the restaurant as I slide into the freshly available seat, taking off my jacket. I place my order and watch the crafty hands of the chef combine simple ingredients to create a delectable meal.