Tokyo. The Sumida River runs under lanes of suspended motorways bridges. Along the banks of the river, lines of cardboard shacks covered in blue canvas stretch forever, caught in the constant hum of the traffic speeding overhead. This is home for the homeless, the anti-city. This is where the modern world’s misfit shore up, somewhere between exile and asylum, scratching a living together, walking the city streets collecting empty cans and used cardboard boxes to sell by the weight. They tell us about their past, social interactions and about two worlds; the world where they live and the one they only walk through. Japan, the abstract machine. Their words create a new vision of Tokyo, speaking from the edge they talk about the centre.