Eastmynd invites everyone into his minimal kingdom. Here are the ones hopelessly enchanted by the music. A private, spherical, technical groove rolls warm through their bodies and pulls them into the rhythm. Let's throw a party with no names and no rules!

.

The arrivals hall at Haneda Airport had "hired" an impeccable guard — a nine-meter Godzilla cast in reinforced plastic and looming right over the escalators. Veteran of a hundred battles, he was watching over the passengers from above as if checking all their visas with a single glance.

"We're in Tokyo! This is a real adventure!"

"Shh. I think he noticed us, heh."

The metro carried Needle and Plate to their accommodation. After checking in, they headed straight out for a walk, hunting for Asian aesthetics to photograph. Before long they came across a coffee shop that could have passed for an opium den somewhere in Hong Kong. Dust everywhere, cigarette smoke, low light — yet the place had its own peculiar charm. The main destination was still ahead. An hour later, in Shinagawa.

"This is what real loyalty and honor look like."

"You can still feel it here — how people followed through on their word, to the end."

On the way back from the grave of the 47 Ronin, curiosity led them to a small shop tucked away nearby. It smelled of cedar and old books from the inside. The owners, an elderly Japanese couple, spoke no English, but that didn't stop a few souvenirs from changing hands. Needle found a small cat-shaped keychain, and Plate a carved box. The woman nodded, wrapped the purchases in paper, tied them with string, and handed them over with a smile and a small bow. The Japanese fairy tale kept casting its spells.