The moment I walked in, I knew I was in trouble. Rows of tables. Blinking LEDs. A man selling “mystery boxes” of cables (none of which had the right connector). Another man with a table full of rice cookers that only sing in Cantonese.

Five hundred yen. That’s less than a convenience store onigiri.

The seller, a man with no eyebrows, said: “It worked once. Probably.”

But she did smile when the shrimp lamp arrived on the coffee table.

A box. A large, unassuming cardboard box. On the side, in sharpie: “AS-IS. ROBOT VACUUM. MAYBE WORKS. ¥500.”

I handed him the 500-yen coin without blinking.

I think I’ll keep her. And the lamp.

Then I saw the second item. A “mystery bag” of used game cartridges for the Super Famicom. No returns. Three thousand yen. Inside? Five copies of Pachi-Slot Kenkyuu and one unlabeled cartridge that just crashes to a green screen. A masterpiece.

I opened the box. Inside was a robot vacuum that looked like it had fought in a war. Scratches. Duct tape. A tiny, hopeful LED that blinked “HELLO” before flickering out.