In every patch of shade scattered about, there were people who had arrived before me, relaxing there

Exhausted by the relentless glare of the urban concrete, I surrendered a few coins at the gate and sought sanctuary within the Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden. In an ideal world, a park should be a public commons, free and open to all. Yet, in the heart of Tokyo, perhaps a modest fee is a fair price to pay for the immediate purchase of silence.

As I reached the sweeping grassy slopes, I was met by a scattered assembly of magnificent trees, their canopies pruned into dense, rounded clouds. Under the fierce afternoon sun, each tree cast a stark, obsidian shadow upon the manicured lawn.

My gaze drifted to these pools of darkness, and I realized they were inhabited. Like small clusters of refugees, people were huddled together at the base of each trunk, seeking shelter from the heat. In this vast expanse of green, everyone had chosen the cramped intimacy of the shade. It was a poignant testament to our shared frailty; not a single eccentric soul dared to sprawl in the sun-drenched open. In that moment, it struck me that humans, when pushed by the elements, possess an instinct much like insects—scurrying to hide beneath the nearest leaf. There was something undeniably whimsical, even comical, about these miniature picnics unfolding in the shadows.

Lifting my eyes from this tiny human drama, I looked toward the horizon. Looming over the treeline stood the NTT Docomo Yoyogi Building, a colossal skyscraper with a peculiar, pointed silhouette. With its grand facade, it bears a striking resemblance to the Empire State Building. I happened to know a trivial secret about it, though: the upper half is hollow, containing neither offices nor floors, but merely a massive array of antennas cloaked behind decorative panels.

There it stood—a hollow monument to telecommunications, towering over the landscape. From my vantage point, it seemed to gaze down with mechanical indifference at the little creatures stirring in the shade. Yet, for someone unaware of its cold, functional heart, the tower might look like a silent sentinel, watching over the resting crowds with a strange, towering grace.

The trees were dotted on the stretch of turf. And they made their own shades at the root. And people were sitting in the shades. Every shade was filled with people. Because the sunlight was strong a little, people wanted to avoid the sun. No one was relaxing in the sunny place.

When I looked up, a skyscraper was seen over there. I thought it was watching the people relaxing from a distance silently.