This is a continuation of another article.
I think I pretty much fantasize all day long. I remember hearing about the kids that daydream in class: the movies love to portray them. I never thought of myself like that, because the daydreams in the movies always seem to involve meadows and crickets and maybe a flower or a girl or something. But yeah, I'm pretty much fantasizing all the time, staring out the window when you are working really hard. Here's what I sometimes fantasize about:
After my work at Kikkoman (I rarely fantasize about work, though sometimes... Anyway, I'm not going to now), I head back over to Hibiya park to change, and to do a little people-watching. I get off at five, so everybody else is done with work, too, right? Not at all. Most Japanese people work much later, often until 10-11. They may well be working up to the last moment before the last train home.
So the park is mainly filled with retired old folks, school kids, house wives with kids in tow, and gaijin. And the random service industry worker. In a city of 20 million that adds up pretty quick, so in fact there are quite a few people to watch at this time of day. They walk slowly, the women in skirts or slight dresses, the men without fail in tiny black suits and tiny black ties. We gaijin look like lost, bloated frogs in comparison.
For some reason the bathroom I usually use at Hibiya is always occupied around five, so I usually have to wait. I tried a different bathroom in the park at one point, but after encountering some freshly laid... manure? in the squat toilet, I never went back. So I get everything ready for the change, look at my phone, maybe wander a bit and look at the late-blooming flowers. Maybe pet one of the local park cats.
After a while the old man comes out of the stall. I say "the" old man, because it is usually this poor old man, bent over until his torso is entirely parallel to the ground (not an exaggeration), who walks out. His teeth and gums are a mushy mess, and he has puffy hands and face, but he smiles pleasantly. Who knows what tragedy drove him to drink and sleep on the streets. I've never asked, and he's never offered.