At lunchtime today, I headed out to get something to eat and happened to come across a homeless man peeing on the street near my office. Of course, that in itself is hardly worth mentioning; one can find homeless men peeing on streets in every city of the world. What struck me about the situation this afternoon was the realization that it was the very first time that I had seen a public urinator in Japan who was actually homeless. Up until today, in the nearly weekly occurrence of seeing old men relieving themselves on sidewalks and in doorways in plain view of everyone passing by, all of the perpetrators have been relatively normal-looking guys!

The practice of public urination is called tachishoben in Japanese (literally: “standing urination”) and seems to be the unofficial pastime among the nation’s sizable population of sleazy old men. While the activity is frowned-upon by the general populace, not once in any instance of witnessing men openly spatter the contents of their bladders on the street have I ever seen someone admonish the offenders, let alone offer a disapproving “tsk” in the direction of the individual with his penis in his hand, unabashedly directing the stream of his urine towards a nearby surface.

Now, while it is obviously an objectionable practice, I don’t wish to condemn tachishoben — (what man among us is innocent of ever covertly dampening a darkened alley during an evening spent partaking in spirituous refreshment?) — I am merely undertaking a therapeutic exercise in writing about my unsettling experience in order to cleanse my psyche of any lingering detrimental effects of the memory of being presented with the sight of crusty homeless man penis while on my way to satiate my hunger with a mid-day collation.

Of course, the only thing worse than observing the flagrant depravity of a public urinator is to bear witness to the wanton turpitude of his reprobate cohort, the public masturbator. While I personally have yet to encounter this detestable creature, Judy, alas, has not been so fortunate. An occasion about two years ago saw her fleeing in a panic after happening upon a gentlemen “hard at work,” so to speak, on the side of the road at six o’clock in the morning on a fine winter’s day. Oddly enough, he was standing astride a bicycle at the time. . . .