I caught the train that runs to downtown Sakae, and like every other friday night, I made my way down to Heaven’s Door. The small bar down in the basement of the liveliest district of Nagoya. To the upsetting of my perfectly ordinary friday night, the door said “Closed until next week”.
Disappointed, and quite uneasy with the fact that I won’t get my dose of intoxication with beer, nicotine, and Bob Dylan, I refuted the idea to call anyone or try any other bars, and made my way home through the big puzzle of little alleys that connects this city.
It was a very picturesque walk. I was already armed with the over coat and the scarf around my neck. The hands in the pockets. The melancholy of Pamuk’s Istanbul, and the echoes of the last two hours of Maya’s Manifesto. Tom Waits telling me that he’s “in love with a jersey girl…”. A fair baggage of painful memories, a road that goes ahead and little drops of rain pouring every now and then.
If this was a movie, this would be where all the revelations come pushing through, and driving the hero either to death or discovering his hidden success.
It was all too suited for that. All too suited indeed, that I walked into the first bar that had decent music and effectively anesthetized all these seeds of revelation.