To the untrained eye, the Nakagin Capsule Tower may resemble a pile of old washing machines.
Made up of grey concrete cubes, each fitted with a singular round window, the building is certainly distinctive but also well past its prime.
Its colour has faded and rust coats the 50-year-old structure.
But what the building lacks in traditional charm, it makes up for in architectural significance.
The Nakagin Capsule Tower was built at a time when young architects, inspired by the rapidly changing Tokyo in the post-war Japan of the 1950s and '60s, imagined cities as living entities that evolved over time.
The building was meant to reflect that notion, with cubed rooms assembled like Lego pieces that could be removed, changed and replaced.
It was a process that architect Kisho Kurokawa imagined would happen every 25 years, allowing the building to survive well over a century.
But the Nakagin Capsule Tower suffered one fatal design flaw that ultimately sealed its fate.
And after a long campaign to save the structure, construction crews are moving in this week to dismantle the building.
10 square metres, an aeroplane toilet and all the 1970s creature comforts
The tower is made up of 144 capsules, each just a tiny 10 square metres.
The original apartments included some modern comforts for 1972, including a radio, telephone, fold-out desk and a single bed.
Their bathrooms are as cramped as an aeroplane lavatory. There is no room for a kitchen.
Tatsuyuki Maeda fell in love with the building and purchased his first cube in 2010. He ended up buying another 14.
"People who have claustrophobia don't like this place, but I feel comfortable in small spaces," he told the ABC.
But the capsules weren't meant for ordinary living.
They were designed for businessmen, known in Japan as "salarymen", who needed a place to stay after a late night at the office.
In recent years, the capsules were used by an eclectic mix of occupants for anything from work studios and design spaces to drinking parties and web streaming.
"We had a lively community," Mr Maeda said.
"It was a building that fascinated people and I felt we should preserve these kinds of buildings.
"That's the reason why I kept buying more capsules."
Professor Toshihiko Suzuki, who has written a book about Kisho Kurokawa and his capsule tower, said the architect imagined a future that is only now being realised.
"Kisho Kurokawa said 50 years ago that the new style of working [would] be working online in an information-oriented society," he said.
"People will move back and forth between many places while they could work anywhere.
"Nakagin Capsule Tower was a building that clearly predicted that future."
The capsule tower's ingenious design feature was also its fundamental flaw
What really set the building apart was its unique design.
The cubes were made to be removed from a central metal structure, or skeleton.
That meant, in theory at least, the apartments could be replaced without the need to demolish the entire building.
It was part of an architecture movement called Metabolism, which drew inspiration from human cells' ability to adapt and replicate to sustain life.
The movement never took off though and only a few examples in Japan remain standing, including the Shizuoka Press and Broadcasting Tower in Tokyo and the Kyoto International Conference Center.
Tokyo's famous capsule hotels, inspired by the Metabolism concept, are a go-to attraction for international tourists to this day.
"In the old days, Japan's idea was based on scrap and build," resident Tatsuyuki Maeda said.
"Mr Kurokawa's idea was to exchange the capsules and keep them semi-permanently.
"I think it's great that he thought about that 50 years ago."
Despite the best intentions, the building's undoing came down to one fundamental flaw.
The capsules could not be individually plucked out and replaced. Rather, the entire set of capsules above had to be removed.
This meant all owners had to agree when capsules should be removed and replaced, a requirement that ultimately proved insurmountable.
Evolution became impossible and the building slipped into disrepair.
There was no hot water, the walls were filled with asbestos and rain seeped in during typhoons.
When the pandemic struck, some owners were forced to sell and international tourists stopped visiting, putting further strain on the small group of residents trying to keep the building alive.
The Lego dream comes tumbling down
Now, the building will be unpacked and its capsules distributed throughout Japan and across the world.
Local architect Toshihiko Suzuki said it was bittersweet to watch a piece of Tokyo's history being pulled apart.
"Nakagin Capsule Tower will be destroyed, but its parts will be reused in many places around the world, like in museums," he said.
"That's a world first. I think that's an exciting outcome."
Mr Suzuki believes the ideas underpinning the Metabolism movement are now starting to be realised, as people seek flexible living and work locations.
He dreams of what the "next-generation capsule tower" might look like, where rooms can be easily removed and changed.
"I think there will be high value in mobility. People can … work online while they move," he said.
"What will happen when cars can move without people driving and when you combine that with the capsule? For example, a capsule as a second house could move from place to place."
But the building's deconstruction has made resident Tatsuyuki Maeda pessimistic about the future of Tokyo's skyline.
The city has a reputation for destroying unique architecture and replacing it with rather uninspiring designs.
Most recently, the historic Harajuku Station, built in 1906 and thought to be the oldest wooden train station in the city, was demolished to make way for a more modern remodel.
"I understand we have to utilise land and build new buildings, but the government should select the buildings for preservation," Mr Maeda said.
"When I go to other countries, I enjoy looking at buildings. I fear Tokyo will become a dull city."
