去年年底和創業家的東京行，我們意外發現了一間在澀谷的酒吧。小小的酒吧隱身在不起眼的大樓五樓，電梯一出來就是開放式的空間。微黃的燈光灑落，客人三兩成群地分散坐在為數不多的座位和吧台區。我們選定了吧台區的座位坐下。
這家開張三年的酒吧總共有三個bartender，其中的Kevin因為圍裙上的加拿大別針意外和創業家聊了起來。他居然也是加拿大人，因為父親工作的關係在多倫多出生，一歲半時搬回日本、幾年前有回多倫多上語言學校。
我問起他的酒保生涯，問他是如何決定走上這行的，平常過的是怎麼樣的生活。他說他們每天下午5點就來店裡開始備料，酒吧六點開張直到半夜三點，有時候更晚、取決於客人待得多久。
「你們凌晨工作結束後才去吃飯嗎？」
「通常就回家吃個泡麵吧😂」Kevin笑笑地說。
「那你們六點開工之前會先吃飯嗎？」身為台灣人真的很愛關心別人的胃。
「不會耶。」
「為何不！？」
「大概是為了想多睡一點吧？」
我和創業家一時語塞。
酒保的生活看似有趣，但其實背後有許多隱藏成本。這樣的工作型態看似一場流動的宴席、與好多來自世界各地的客人交會，但真正能變成穩定連結的又有多少？這樣日出而息日落而作日夜顛倒的生活，久了身邊是否也只能容納過著同樣業態的同行朋友？這樣的生活過久了，真的還會開心嗎？還是說，總會有年輕的熱血和新血，願意用其生命中一段最繁華似錦的年歲，支撐起這樣的自我實現和這座城市的動能？
凌晨兩點，我們離開酒吧步入澀谷凌晨微涼的空氣。抬頭看向五樓。
The golden light was still seeping through the window.
我們的一天已經結束，而他們依舊在那裡，日復一日，直到哪天 - 我們再次踏入那扇門。
The Bartender's Life: A Night That Never Ends
Last year, toward the end of the year, Entrepreneur and I stumbled upon a bar in Shibuya during our Tokyo trip. It was tucked away on the fifth floor of an unremarkable building - the elevator opened directly into an open space. Warm amber light fell softly across the room. Guests sat in small clusters, scattered among the handful of seats and the bar counter. We chose the counter.
The bar had been open for three years, run by three bartenders. One of them, Kevin, struck up a conversation with Entrepreneur by accident - a Canadian pin on his apron caught his eye. Turns out, he was Canadian too. Born in Toronto because of his father's work, he moved back to Japan at eighteen months old, and returned to Toronto a few years ago for language school.
I asked him about his life as a bartender - how he'd ended up in this world, what his days actually looked like. He told us they come in every afternoon at five to prep. The bar opens at six and runs until three in the morning. Sometimes later, depending on how long the last guests stay.
"Do you eat after work? At three, four in the morning?"
"Usually just go home and make instant noodles." Kevin smiled.
"And before your shift - do you eat before six?" As a Taiwanese, I can't help but care about whether people are properly fed.
"Not really."
"Why not?!"
"Probably just want to snooze a little longer."
Entrepreneur and I fell quiet for a moment.
The bartender's life looks glamorous from the outside. It seems like one long, flowing banquet, a continuous stream of faces from every corner of the world passing through. But how many of those encounters ever become something lasting? And living with the night inverted like this, day after day - does your world slowly narrow until it can only hold others who live the same schedule? After years of this, do you still feel the joy in it? Or, are there always new waves of young people, full of passion and fire, willing to offer the most vivid years of their lives, to fulfill this dream of theirs, and to keep a city like this alive after the night?
At two in the morning, we stepped out of the bar and into the cool Shibuya night. I looked up toward the fifth floor. The golden light was still seeping through the window.
Our night had ended. Theirs hadn't. Day after day, they remain up there - until one day, perhaps, we walk back through that door again.
