Pepe walks alone through a dimly lit Taishō-era Tokyo street, wrapped in a simple indigo kimono and wearing a braided sedge hat. The atmosphere is thick with that characteristic blue-brown dusk of early 20th-century Japanese illustration, where electric lights had only just begun to punctuate streets still shaped by Edo architecture. The glowing shop signs and hanging lanterns create a visual rhythm reminiscent of Kaburaki Kiyokata’s bijinga nocturnes and the shin-hanga city scenes of Kawase Hasui, where modernity and tradition coexisted in a quiet, melancholic tension. Like in Hasui’s Kanda Waterfront after Rain, the scene blends solitude and urban transition: the arrival of the automobile, the persistence of wooden facades, and the lingering silhouettes of pedestrians diffused in mist. Pepe becomes a stand-in for the individual caught between eras, an observer wandering through a city shedding its past while not yet certain of its future.