Slow Boat

We age, but we’re not alone. The same goes for our city. So—how has Tokyo got older? How has it grown up? These are the kinds of questions we’ll tackle in “Tokyo Chronicle”, a new series launching in our next issue.

In the meantime, here’s a little taste of what we’ve got in store—a teaser, if you will. Kaku Nohara kicks things off with a short story about his Tokyo, circa 1985. Before we get to his story, just a few lines about where the world was in 1985.

AIDS landed in Japan. Gorbachev was picked to succeed Chernenko. Aug. 15: PM Yasuhiro Nakasone paid a visit to Yasukuni Shrine, in an official capacity. Race riots raged in South Africa. Japan Airlines flight 123 crashed near Mt. Osutaka, Gunma Prefecture. In Ibaraki, EXPO Tsukuba 1985 ran for 184 days. The New Entertainment Control Law went into effect. Oct. 16: Hanshin Tigers named Central League champions.

We’re all ten years old. Old enough to taste the difference. And you can buy Coke at any convenience store… Really, where’s the fun in that? We’re on the hunt for Pepsi-Cola.

Pepsi’s different. Premium. A rare brew manufactured in underground power stations.

I issue the order:

—Fall in!

We’re in West Shinjuku. The quiet second district. Quiet—because the 1.569 billion-yen Tokyo Metropolitan Government Office hasn’t gone up yet. We assemble by the Water Plaza in Central Park, our base of operations.

—Uno

—Dos

—Tres

—Cuatro

—Sinkhole

Our secret code.

I’m the commander, so I take the lead: Got your timepieces, amigos?

All at once: Si, señor!

Yuji Okazaki spent the summer in Spain with his family. When he came back, Spanish hit us hard—at an instantaneous wind speed of fifty metres per second.

Me: Ready? Synchronize watches. You have exactly five minutes. And no Fanta—got it? Pepsi only.

Hiroki Uehara (raising his hand): Are vending machines out of bounds?

Me: Affirmative. Stores only. Clear? Get receipts, too—for evidence. Everyone reading twelve seconds?

All of us: Yessir!

Me: Ready… get set… go!

We run like hell.

We hit every Pepsi-carrying store we can find. Pepsi. Rocket fuel for the double-digit generation.

Hopped up on caffeine, we barrel through the streets of Shinjuku. As I bolt towards the next store, I catch a glimpse of the Tokyo Hilton. Or should I say El Hilton? Remember, though, the H is silent.

That was my 1985.