That One Time I Found an Old Man Sleeping in the Middle of the Street in Japan

It was one of those chilly nights in late autumn when you can feel winter creeping in. I had just gotten back from walking my Shiba, Natsuko.

She’s the cutest little thing with her curly tail and perky ears. We have this routine of walking after 10 PM, but, of course, that night, despite the crisp air, Natsuko hadn’t pooped (as usual). I was already bracing myself for a pre-dawn walk the next day.

As we made our way back home, I spotted something strange on the side of the road.

A pair of boots.

What the hell are these doing here? I thought.

I glanced around, hoping to spot the owner, but no one was in sight. Just as I was about to shrug it off and head home, I heard a snore.

Now, living in rural Japan, you get used to the fact that lighting is about as useful as a flashlight with dead batteries. The street was dark, barely illuminated by non-existent lamp posts.

I squinted into the shadows and finally saw it — a silhouette lying smack in the middle of the road. My head tilted to the side, like I was doing some weird Indian head bobble.

Was that… a person?

Natsuko loves people, so with her tugging at the leash, I cautiously approached. Sure enough, it was an old man, probably in his 70s, sprawled out and snoring like it was nobody’s business.

I knelt down and gently shook him. “Sir, are you okay?” Nothing.

“You’re literally sleeping in the middle of the street” I said, a bit louder this time.

After a few more attempts, I resorted to giving him a nudge and a yell. Finally, he groaned and sat up, smelling like he had bathed in a tub of sake.

How could anyone sleep in the middle of the road in 10-degree weather?

He blinked at me, clearly disoriented. “Where am I?” he mumbled, trying to get his bearings.

I told him he was in the middle of the street. It took him a few seconds to process. He kept saying, “What do you mean?” over and over again. When it finally clicked, his eyes widened, and then he started laughing and apologizing profusely.

Realizing he had really messed up, he clumsily got to his feet, looking like he was about to stumble home. I pointed to his boots on the side of the road. He cackled again, muttered yet another apology, and staggered over to them.

As he struggled to put them on, I offered to walk him home. He kept bowing and apologizing the whole way, like a broken record of “I’m sorry.”

We finally made it to his place, but instead of heading inside, he wandered around to the back. I waited for a bit, just to make sure he was okay.

Then I heard rustling.

After a few minutes, I peeked around the corner, and there he was, sound asleep again — this time next to a small shack. At least he wasn’t in the middle of the road, so I figured he’d be fine.

Leaving him to his new sleeping spot, I headed back home with Natsuko.

The whole experience was just another reminder of Japan’s hardcore drinking culture. Even in a quiet, rural town, the effects were right there for everyone to see.

As I climbed into bed, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Only in Japan, right?

So, the next time you’re out walking your dog late at night and stumble upon something strange, remember: life in Japan is full of surprises.

And always keep an eye out for drunk old men napping in the middle of the street.