I love having a drink in the afternoon after finishing my errands, while the sky is still bright. While I also enjoy days when I make plans with someone and eagerly look forward to it, stopping by an izakaya on a sudden whim brings a thrilling tinge of suspense—the slight chill of thinking I might be turned away because it's full—which I find irresistible. The first place that springs to mind is "Izakaya Tatsumi," tucked just a short way into an alley in the downtown district. It also happens to be the very shop that gave me the push to start drinking alone.

Despite how much I love it, I have no particular connoisseurship when it comes to sake. The fact that any sake I order tastes delicious might simply be thanks to the masu—the wooden box overflowing with a generous pour. I find it amusing how everyone is deeply focused on the glasses and small dishes lined up right in front of them, and it makes me proud to have become a part of that crowd.

On days when I go with someone, I inevitably run into an acquaintance, yet on days when I am alone, I never meet anyone. Just as I was starting to embrace this jinx-like sense of security, the illusion was shattered. The moment I walked in and said, "Just one," I was caught completely off guard: "You're the owner of Sudachido, aren't you?" I will never forget the moment I realized the staff member was a customer I had served at my own shop just the other day. They spoke to me with such delight, and while I felt a mix of happiness and embarrassment, happiness definitely won out. Since that day, my steps have felt a little lighter whenever I pass through their noren curtain. These days, I mostly eat at home. But on days when my mood and the weather are fine, I find myself wanting to go out. And whenever I hesitate over which shop to choose, the one that always comes to mind is that very place.