Unfortunately, I was not wise enough to play foreign-tourist-knows-not-to-photograph-indoors and asked, in the most polite Japanese my brain could muster, if it was DAIJOBU to SHASHIN the TSUMORI, and the shop lady, as splendifirously dressed as she was, smiled and shook her head with a smile.
Damnit. So this is it. So whimsical it makes me want to run away somewhere like Dr. Parnassus' closet. Somewhere far away and close, and wide and stretchy and floaty and sweet and exquisitely warm and charmingly wintery with glitter globes aplenty. I love you Tsumori Chisato.
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