One side of this town measures about 300 meters (328 yards).
Looking at it on Google maps, you can see that it almost forms a square. While there are people who die in this town, there are as good as no people who are born here.
“Don’t you wanna buy one? Just 500 Yen!“, Mr. Kawakami asks me with a bunch of fake brand watches in his pocket.
Mr. Suda saves up his welfare to put it into boat races and dreams of becoming a millionaire some day.
Nancy, who I had no doubt was a man, showed up with blonde curly hair and in fishnet tights one day.
Tsun used to be all alone in the world, until he found his father living in the Philippines on Facebook. He scraped up all his money to go and see him.
Will the man sleeping on a futon spread on the rooftop gaze at the moon tonight?
I want to take a few more pictures, but they leave me behind, disappearing in their little rooms they got used to live in.
This only 300 meter wide square might not be a place where they were born in, but it is a town where these people can be what they are.
