The Glico Man, Dotonbori
Illuminations in the Dotonbori district.
Dotonbori at night is like an explosion, a psychedelic trance that smells like grilled fish and skewers of fried foods.
There are game centers that vibrate with noise until the wee hours of the night, that would not stop for anything, especially not for your poor ears. Lights flashing, the pupils rave, senses awaken. The reflections of the flashing lights on the Dotonbori-gawa is the only quiet, as the sea of people and decibel of noise seem overpowering in the surrounding streets. Lanterns sway above the takoyaki stands and trinket vendors.
Noises and voices
For a moment the spirit is lost between a big plate of pasta and a giant crab as you turn down an avenue; a few minutes later you're seated in an izakaya (Japanese pub) where on all sides the gruff voices of Osakan men rise above the crowd, themselves followed by plumes of cigarette smoke. They speak loudly in Osaka, laugh too loud, and not just in restaurants when it's getting late.
Dotonbori is crossed, surely also looking for a few of these colors, but is still in a given shove in the back of a friend or in its singular pachinko balls announcing the victory.