losing track of tokyo time (capsule hotel distillation)
A capsule hotel in Tokyo is.
a refuge for the tipsy businessman,
the outcasts of society,
the passing foreigner,
the lonely traveler,
all unified by free soft drinks,
a communal sauna,
morning breakfast curry,
and pods separated only by thin walls and curtains.
Take away the windows and light and
time passes with no change in day or season
it could be a hot June summer day for all you know
or a temperate December breezy evening as it actually is today
Your eyes flutter awake groggily lying in your pod, and all that you have to tell you that it's a new day is a neon-green faint display showing 09:21, while you sit in near-darkness, dim-iridescent lighting leaking through the otherwise-tight weaving of the tatami screen of your pod.
Other times seen on this tiny clock: 02:23, 05:37, 13:41 (this was a particularly alarming day as an early-waker), 06:49, 07:48, 08:06.
You sort through your strewn belongings to find your toothbrush and 2ml-away-from-its-demise toothpaste tube on its last legs, grab a towel. Climb down from your second story pod groggily like the monkey you are and put on your slippers, and plod towards the sinks. Where in Tokyo will I walk to today?...
