Remember the scene in Akira where the rain comes down in sheets, the glittering streets reflect the multitudes of neon and phosphorescent lights of the buildings while red streaks race through the narrow winding streets as Japanese gangsters whiz by on futuristic motorcycles? That pretty much sums up my first impressions of Shinjuku. Soaking wet with nowhere in particular to go I was enthralled with the scene before me. Girls in obscenely tiny skirts and ridiculously high heels hold the arms of glam punk boys with impeccably styled Bowie-esque mullets, large black men beckon you into sketchy undefined bars and clubs and the clanging of pachinko parlours and arcades pours into the streets as groups of intoxicated business men stumble from bar to bar. It’s the kind of place people that begs for you to stay out drinking until dawn, it wants you to undress, fall down, and finally send you stumbling back home.
What I did capture was two girls falling drunk into the street in the early morning whilst their male friend attempted to get a cab secured. Glorious to watch after a full night’s sleep and a vending machine iced coffee.