Easy Livin’ in Nagoya

He appeared from out of nowhere. Round glasses, round and clean-shaved skull, rolled up pants exposing thick warm socks, and a full bottle of Jim Beam in his left hand. He was slicing against pedestrian traffic when he spotted me. At first, surprised and in tune with Japanese politeness, he tried to make eye contact by maneuvering himself into my view, hunching slightly, and waving his arm. When it became impossible to ignore him, I gave up and he’d immediately straightened up with a giant grin on his face. — Hello-o-o! — the man was oozing happiness and friendliness, causing his fellow citizens throw curious glances. — Hello! We exchanged two or three hello’s, when he loudly confined from the opposite end of the street: — Bourbon! I like bourbon! You know bourbon? — Oh yes, — I smiled. — Yeah! — he beamed and raised the bottle. — Jim Beam! I like bourbon. But, sometimes, I like … tequila! Pa-pa para-pa pa-pa-pa — tequila! — his laugh was as sincere as it was loud. The river of Nagoya citizens flowing between us was clearly disturbed and picking up pace. But I couldn’t go anywhere; I was meeting friends and they were running late. So we exchanged a few more “bourbon — tequila” pleasantries and were going through the compulsory “where are you from” routine. His good mood and a contagious smile multiplied by the first day of my vacation without any rain were quickly growing on me — now I too was ridiculously happy. Not a care in the world, he was grinning joyously, standing next to his bike maybe 2 meters directly opposite of where I was perched, when a young cop invaded our conversation. He was tall, in good shape, his uniform neat, and his face undisturbed by razor probably for another few years. Quietly, but sternly he questioned my friend. A food vendor from a truck near by popped out to see the spectacle, but my friend knew his rights. He stood firmly, legs spread, and hands behind the back, clutching the bourbon. Their conversation went on for about ten minutes, during which my friend’s mood changed rapidly like the weather in New York — from funny (making the policeman smile) to angry (shouting Get Out! and stomping his foot) to calm (sipping bourbon straight from the bottle, in the middle of the street, in the middle of day, inches from policeman’s handsome nose). Reinforcement showed up from the opposite ends of the street. My friends finally arrived to pick me up and a policewoman, with a tired look on her face, rushed to consult her colleague. No one came for my friend. I waved, said good bye, and wished him well. Then, realizing that a traditional bow just won’t cut it here and, instead, it would be far more appropriate… I made the first step and extended my arm. Very carefully, almost dog-like, we approached each other and firmly shook hands. His wide happy smile revealed a few silver caps. — Stay out of trouble, ok? — I asked, nodding towards the police. He winked and raised his bottle-axe: — Bourbon!

PS Dedicated to Marat Ice​, a funny guy and a compassionate friend.
PPS Play on words; bottle-axe vs battle-axe