The Luxury Apartment in His Head

I’ve spent long hours in Yoyogi Park—Sunday afternoons watching rockabilly dancers shake their hips to imported 1950s America, eating convenience store onigiri on the grass, doing absolutely nothing useful. And I apparently walked straight past Hisao Kawabata every single time. Which probably just means I’m an oblivious idiot.

Hisao is the happiest homeless man in Japan, or so the story goes. He’ll tell you with complete conviction and obvious pride that he lives in a luxury apartment. That’s the version of his life that exists in his head, and he holds it with total sincerity. The actual version involves sake and a flea market stall near the park, selling odds and ends to tourists. But the smile never leaves his face. He’s stylish, old, and entirely at peace with a reality that may or may not correspond to external events.

There’s something in that—not a lesson, I’m not going to do that—just something. Next time I’m in Tokyo, I’m finding him. We’re getting drunk together on cheap sake and I’m buying whatever useless trinket he puts in front of me. That’s a plan.