In the meandering streets of Tokyo, where neon lights danced like fireflies on midsummer nights, a peculiar shop stood like a whispered secret. T K Tube was etched on its sign in elegant, crimson letters, beckoning seekers of the unknown towards its labyrinthine alleyway entrance. Those who chanced upon it spoke of the shopkeeper’s enigmatic smile and an eerie aura that clung to every item on its shelves.

Rumors swirled among Tokyo’s eclectic populace about the shop’s stock: antique vases claimed to enhance one’s diplomacy skills, antique doors whispered to have the power to mend long-lost connections, and vintage typewriters – they were said to inspire the loftiest of literary dreams. Each item was said to hold an ephemeral quality, imbuing the owner with the kind of blessing that brought an essence of success, yet their benevolent effects inevitably faded with the passage of time.

On quiet mornings,I photographed those hints, hoping that enduring glimpses secured within the frame might prolong their exquisite properties at least enough for several close loved ones. Initial excitement shed wings to uncertain disillusionment though, as these clue connections sometimes seemed ill defined at the fag end of repeated photographs. If providence continued therefore to guide my hands, one day those within these electric tabulations discovered understandings with unfortunate factors turning into enacted deals.