I am grateful for this warm summer night in Roppongi full of drunken eyes and empty taxicabs and sidewalks that audibly warn you to watch your step. I love that the lady at the Korean BBQ restaurant leaned over me and tied a bib around my neck like a baby. The one place I hope I don’t go to on this trip is the bar Heartland; still, I enjoyed watching the sleazy white men flirt with sexy Japanese women as I strolled up the escalator to the train station. When I was a kid growing up in Roppongi twenty-some years ago, this was just a small residential neighborhood with single-family homes and small community parks. Even with all the change, the air still smells like home.