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A dense crowd of pedestrians crossing a wide Tokyo intersection at dusk, towers and blurred light panels above, seen from within the crowd.
Several hundred people, and not one of them is looking at you.
A broad avenue pavement just off the crossing. Around thirty people walk in every direction at different paces on wet ground under tall buildings.
One street on, the pack loosens. You can choose a pace now.
A narrower street beneath an elevated railway. About a dozen people walk in ones and twos past vending machines and small lanterns.
Under the tracks the city goes quieter than it looks from outside.
A narrow back alley at dusk. Only two people walk away in the distance; wet asphalt, overhead cables, and towers faint above the rooftops.
Two people, then none. The towers are still up there, far away.
Inside a tiny sushi counter: a chef in a worn white jacket stands behind pale wood, glancing up at the viewer, one piece of nigiri on the counter. The wet alley is visible through the window beside him.
One person. He has been waiting for you to arrive.

Eight minutes' walk from several hundred strangers to one. That distance is the whole appeal, and no photograph of the shop front says it.

Hundredspeople around you
Scroll — the crowd thins out