You have seen that crossing in photographs many times. What the photographs leave out is what is above it.
The roof of Shibuya Scramble Square is open to the sky. There is no pane of glass between you and the city, so the wind is real wind and it puts your hair out of order. It is open on all four sides: look down, and the Shibuya Scramble Crossing is directly beneath you — the light turns green and people pour into that rectangle from four directions at once, then a moment later it empties, as though someone had thrown a switch. Look up and out, and when the weather is good Tokyo Skytree stands on one side and Mount Fuji on the other.
Come at dusk if you come at all. For one reason only: without moving from where you stand, you get both Tokyos. The daytime one is still lit; then the lights come on square by square, and by the time you have caught up, the city under your feet has been replaced by another.
Whatever is arranged for the evening sits well after this. By the time he is seated in the restaurant, the lights beyond the window are no longer a backdrop: he was standing up there a moment ago, and he still remembers which direction the wind came from.