alone in rappongi

my squinted eyes are fixed on the bright opening from up above. it's the first sign of light i've seen in what seems like years.
it's funny how eyes quickly distinguish the light of dawn; nothing like it.
i remember the feeling of finally reaching the top of reppongi metro station. a brisk and gentle breeze pecks my face; at my shame
150 yen in my pockets, but sadly not 170. 

all i need is 20.

for a second i contemplate begging but the thought quickly leaves as i begin to walk.
to where? not sure. but i keep walking because in this moment, it's the only thing i can do
i usually carry a good internal compass but right now, it's completely shot. 

i glance at my phone. it's alive
i spot a coffee shop.

it's like an oasis in the middle of a japanese sahara. i frantically walk. 

the coffe clerk spots me: a shady, bearded mess of a man. 

i flick through my phone's settings and check the wi-fi. nothing

i lean next to the building and inch closer and closer to the invisible halo. signal!

the jubilee fades as i begin the trek. i've been in this situation my mind keeps telling. 

nothing new, ain't no thing. 

determined to get there as soon as possible, i develop a good pace but shortly after, my senses dig feet. 

the sound of japense children saying goodbye to their parents.

the glow of the october morning sun breaking through the misty japense dew.

i approach a cementery and notice the regulars in their cold, concrete homes.

it's eerie but i can't hear anything anymore. i am underwater and the only thing i hear are muted sounds. my vision all in vignettes 

a low hum slowly catches my attention and just like that i'm underneath shibuya subway station. 

everyone walks past and around me. speedy little people 

i approach 5-corners intersection and instantly i begin to recognize.

the trek is over

i walk-up to my apartment with hope of finding my friend phillip, sprawled all across the deck. 

nothing.

i worried for a few minutes but sleep overcomes me.

a few hard pounds on the door was all it took to get me up. what time is it?

i open the door and there he is, wearing the face of a disgraced marco polo. i look at him 

an anger slowly begins to catch.

--sentence remnants woven together--

and in this moment it hits me 

all i see is faces, expressions. and 

the only single sense that functions is sight  

but i can't stop and absorb

instead it's replaced by 

reppongi's face.