Above the clouds, we sit high and we gaze...

...about 15 different bottles of cologne are arranged immaculately upon the top of a small head board. Nearby a rack of multicolored umbrellas sit, a different color for each outfit. One entire wall of the narrow room is a closet.

I'm not sure what floor of this apartment building we are on, but out the north window, the three points of the Shinjuku Century Hyatt Hotel are visible, each glass pyramid shaped top concealing giant swimming pools beneath.

"It's like you are swimming on top of the city," Hiro tells me. "For 1 million dollars you can live there forever. Movies stars and musicians stay there."

Hiro, a short skateboarder who spends his weekends in the dazzling clubs of Roppongi gazed around his modest apartment, maybe a grand total of 225 square feet, and voice a small desire: "I wish I could live there."

"And I wish I could live here," I said, gesturing.

Despite the narrow, crammed environment, Hiro had something rare, an apartment alone, in the ultramodern heart of the world's most interesting city.

"I know, I know," he said, turning toward the Century Hyatt.

Raindrops slid off the window and trickled down to the street below, tickling various umbrellas and trees on their descent. Somewhere, rich people were swimming 50 floors about street level. Somewhere blood was coursing through the veins of this city.

Shinjuku my playground.