On Sunday evening, I saw a man sitting at the back of a vintage shop in Daikanyama. He sat on a small stool, with his backpack tucked between his legs. 

His right hand held a blank notebook open, his left held a black pen. He drew the scene in front of him—racks of pants, shirts, and accessories—with a swiftness of knowing every moment could be the last for this image. He paused only when his partner asked for his opinion on an outfit.

This scene resonated with me. I often feel the same way, writing at this blog. There is very little time to be precious, to lie, or to contemplate my comfort zone.