Marcel Winatschek

Neo Tokyo Radio

The city looks too bright when you’re not inside it. Standing on the wall looking out at nothing but dark, you finally see what that brightness costs. Beyond the barrier there’s no light at all. No sound. Just ice and void and a cold that wants to kill you. Somewhere there was ocean. Beaches. Now there’s only this.

Sitting on one of the old benches—back from when tourists came here—I watch an old man throw flowers over the red warning line while humming something, a folk song that used to matter. Across from us a couple kisses like the world isn’t ending. Wind pushes snow in my face. I pull my jacket tighter and wonder what the darkness keeps hidden.

A buzz. Lara fighting with Fumiko again. I leave the wall.

The train down isn’t packed anymore. Some kid stares at his Game Boy. Five minutes from the station to Momo on foot. Lara and the Master are both smiling when I push through the door. Neo Tokyo Radio is playing. Like it always is.