there's an upscale department store across from the okayama train station called takashimaiya. during business hours the place is a bright shining temple of modern consumerism - a hustle/bustle of top fashion under marble columns and vaulted ceilings. the tall windows that line the front of the building idyllically display giant back-lit photos of name-brand diamonds and dresses weakly hanging from towering, cheek-boned euro-models. but after night falls and the last customers have gone, the stutters come down and the front of the building becomes a foreboding and dimly light fortress. the single dark-red symbol "takashimaya" frowns from each of the steel doors warding off intruders and protecting the treasures inside.

it's here, huddled against the shelter of this same fortress, that okayama's street youth congregate nightly to sell their art and play their songs under the dim yellow lights - and it's here that i've found many friends.

the first to arrive (and usually the last to leave) is the beautiful but silent miss tanaka. she comes nightly with a pocketed plastic sheet filled with poetry she's scrawled onto blank postcards. it gets quite cold at night and poor miss tanaka is never properly dressed for the occasion. she sits on a little pillow and rocks for warmth. her toes, visible through her work shoes are frozen, but she's usually smiling. she rarely sells anything, and surely doesn't expect to turn a profit - that's why i like her - she's happily freezing for her art.

usually accompanying miss tanaka are three regulars from okayama university. two of them, ayako and tomokazu, bravely speak loads of scattered english - so i tend to keep them close for aid in communication. ayako is a real scatter brain and once i get her speaking in english or graded language japanese, she's stuck that way and no one else can understand her. she's usually there with no agenda what-so-ever, but occasionally writes or does pastel drawings for friends. tomokazu sometimes brings his guitar and sets up a music stand to badly over strum 3-chord songs from a japanese fake book; but he's a cool guy.

occasionally on weekends there's a willy wonka-esc character who sets up an elaborate workshop on a blanket to make beaded hemp bracelets and cell phone accessories. he sits cross-legged in the center of his shop wearing a beret, a long red jacket, and gloves with a few missing fingertips to help keep his hands warm and still allow him to work. he really is both and artist and a performer - engaging people and telling stories and jokes. he's a nice guy and a fabulous addition to the group because he naturally draws a crowd of customers and random observers.

a few nights a week there's a 2-peice acoustic duo called monday moon - they rock your socks off acoustic style! they shout in harmony and one of them occasionally put down his ax to jump more or play the harmonica for a song. it's all in japanese, but they are pretty great - i joined them one night and we bonded over the universally known greenday tracks - even internationally the same 3 or 4 songs are universally known by kids who were in junior high school in '94. cool dudes.

sometimes there's a 4 piece band that packs up and plays there every few weeks or so. the drummer has a tiny (in fact, nearly portable) 3 piece drum kit and the bassist and guitarists play through miniature amps each about the size of a bread box. the three gents do a very polite jazz thing while this cool chick belts out an effected blues melody in cowboy boots. she doesn't need a microphone. they are cool and always smiling to see me.

sometimes there's a guy who does traditional japanese calligraphy in black and orange. he always lays out a few finished peices - some on paper, some painted over photos he's taken - but mostly does custom work by request. he gets a lot of attention and it's entrancing to watch him work. he keeps his brushes in expired screw-top bottles of o-sake and keeps a full one close by. his girlfriend is there and busies about helping fetch things and collecting payment. the artist himself is very serious. he sits on his knees with a cloth work surface folded in font of him. he gets challenging custom requests from dunk passers by and begins his work. his girlfriend bows in front of him and places a new piece of thick paper on his surface. he takes a long sip from his plastic bottle and has a long think over his task. he prepares his brushes. with both the orange and the black brush in his right hand he sets in motion a series of controlled explosions on paper. he occasionally touches up, when he's done, but i've never seen him make a mistake. his customer is always impressed and exceedingly thankful.

an older guy places strummy covers of western music. he's managed to only pick the worst and most cliché songs to have in his repertoire: desperado, hey jude, country road, etc. his english is ok, but when he's singing he has no sense for timing or melody, so it's like he's quickly speaking short bursts of lyrics at the chord changes. i smile as hard as i can - it's all i can do to not laugh out loud. but he's a nice guy and always has a little flask of whiskey that gets passed around.

there are other various guitar kids and hangers out who know me by now. every time i show up the group is ecstatic to see me as if they expected to never see me again. i usually drop by a few nights a week at least to say hi. sometimes i stay for hours and play music with them. they are a great group - excepting, friendly, giving - unique, obnoxious, hilarious. in any corner of the world - my kind of people.