### A night to join hands with the "Kangan-sama" - in an alley behind Asakusa in 1971.

### A night to join hands with the "Kangan-sama" - in an alley behind Asakusa in 1971.

I don't believe in God or Buddha. Even when my children tell me that "God is a superstition," I have no objection at all. And yet, for some reason, I find myself occasionally joining hands with the "Kangan Inari" located in the back alley of Asakusa. My money offering is only 500 yen a year, not enough to call it piety. But when I stand in front of that small shrine, I feel my back straighten up strangely.

In 1971, Tokyo was changing at a dizzying pace. Buildings were being erected, subways were being extended, and everyone was looking only ahead. But where we were was different. Water peddlers, geisha, actors, and entertainers - all of them were making money like floating weeds, and today's sales were directly linked to tomorrow's food. We can only rely on our own bodies and luck at best. Perhaps that is why we turn to Inari, wanting something to hold our backs.

Around the shrine are a series of stone walls engraved with the names of actors from Yoshiwara's Onna-oya and Shibamachi. The name of Shinmon Tatsugoro, the chief fireman who was the face of Asakusa, is engraved on the torii gate. There is a story that his wife became possessed by a fox and was cured after praying here. That's the great thing about Asakusa, there are stories like that all over the place.

At night, the area around the shrine is dark, street prostitutes sit on the ground, and young people like me with no money walk by just for the fun of it. Back then, I would sit on the stone steps and watch the backs of the women and dream of somehow getting a shot. Nowadays, maybe the "right" way to live is to work in a restaurant on the side and make a stable living. But I would rather sit in front of this dimly lit company and silently pray for myself and my future fortune.

Praying to the deity is not a matter of faith, but of remembrance and determination. My youth and the darkness of Asakusa still live here. So tonight, again, I will gently put my hands together. With the stone statue of the fox watching over me.