The city stares, blinks, winks at us.

Audrey Chen + Yolanta C. Siu

Tokyo, Japan

Light comes and goes. During the day, sunlight cuts strange angles. It floods a courtyard and reflects off the glazed windows of office buildings, then is lost between high rises and the descending steps of a subway entrance. When the sun goes down, artificial lights orient us. They maintain those grids of windows in a greenish glow. And from alleyways and tucked away eateries they beckon to us. From streetlamps they make the heavy tangles of electric lines above float, and from passing cars they reveal swaths of tiles in glinting waves. Then as the night gives way to morning, light changes again.

And the city stares, blinks, winks at us.

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