The space of truce.

Road to balance.
Puffing on a cigarette as if it were oxygen. A small, apparently meaningless gesture, which in Tsukiji becomes the boundary line between the ending and a new beginning. For the market workers, the day does not end after they finish work: it starts, really, because work here is done during the night and at dawn. Then you have the rest of your life to lead: everyday life, commitments, family. And we begin again from here, from this cigarette: a stolen and well-earned moment, long awaited and so fleeting.
They look like opposing concepts, but they are not. Suspension is the necessary dimension to create a link between what happens inside Tsukiji and the world waiting outside.
In moments of emptiness, I saw harmony.