K.O. Outtake #6: Trying to Get a Grip on Himself

The following is an outtake from You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public. This text was ultimately edited out of the final version for one reason or another (redundant, or didn't fit the book's tone, or distracted from the book's main themes, etc.), but I'm including it here because at least one beta reader mentioned that he or she found it worth reading.

Trying to Get a Grip on Himself

Every so often, those struggling to stay awake will attempt to feign consciousness, as perhaps was the case with this gentleman who held his mobile phone in the general vicinity of his ear. If he intended this as a decoy, the calm silence of the early morning train station gave him up, exposing the unmistakable sound emanating from beneath his low-tucked cap: choppy, irregular gasps of snoring that continually unclogged and then reclogged globs of phlegm in his throat.

The curious placement of his right hand raises more questions than it answers. The manner in which his thumb lodged in the fold of his shirt suggests that perhaps his hand simply fell that way, but the remaining four digits curl slightly inward, cupping his genitals and suggesting a wide range of other possibilities.

K.O. Outtake #5: Pray the Lord My Soul to Keep

The following is an outtake from You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public. This text was ultimately edited out of the final version for one reason or another (redundant, or didn't fit the book's tone, or distracted from the book's main themes, etc.), but I'm including it here because at least one beta reader mentioned that he or she found it worth reading.

Pray the Lord My Soul to Keep

Did this gentleman, in a droopy-eyed daze of fatigue, stumble up to the vending machine in hopes of refueling himself with caffeine, only to find his wallet empty and the adjacent ATM occupied, at which point frustration and exhaustion overcame him, and he fell to the ground with a final grunt of dissatisfaction? Some sort of grievance certainly must have embittered him, or perhaps he simply slogs through life in a perpetual foul mood, because when roused by the casual chatter of Mother and Son passing by, he barked at them — half in the figurative sense of yelling words, and half in the literal sense of barking like a dog.

Contrary to the shivering salaryman in Akihabara who snuggled up next to a cold pile of garbage, this gentleman reaped the benefits of warm vending machine exhaust, as well as the soothing white noise of soft mechanical humming that could lull him to sleep if not for the chatter of passersby. As far as places to nap on the street during winter, one could certainly do worse.

Though his soiled winter coat and partially outstretched hands gave him the slight appearance of a beggar, it is extremely unlikely that he was homeless, judging from his relatively recent haircut, his clean dress pants and dress shoes, and most of all his location. The homeless generally stay out of public view, congregating in makeshift cardboard communities under bridges, in specific corners of large parks, and so forth, and they almost never resort to begging, perhaps because — like most Japanese people — they strive to avoid creating any sort of conflict, nuisance, or inconvenience.

K.O. Outtake #4: The Subscriber You Have Dialed Is Currently Unavailable

The following is an outtake from You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public. This text was ultimately edited out of the final version for one reason or another (redundant, or didn't fit the book's tone, or distracted from the book's main themes, etc.), but I'm including it here because at least one beta reader mentioned that he or she found it worth reading.

The Subscriber You Have Dialed Is Currently Unavailable

As an example of the blatant indifference with which the Japanese sometimes discard their personal effects, this gentleman's neglected mobile phone could have been snatched up so effortlessly that to some pickpockets it may seem too good to be true.

Before passing out, many Japanese people display considerable courtesy toward others by curling into a ball and tucking themselves into a nook somewhere out of the way. Others put forth seemingly little thought or effort toward courtesy and simply spread themselves into the most comfortable position available, flagrant and unapologetic.

Even on less crowded late-night trains, shamelessly sprawling out across five seats — especially with one's shoes on — would generally be considered uncouth, but this particular gentleman exhibited a curious inconsistency: despite his lack of etiquette, he extended the courtesy of setting his mobile phone to silent before banishing it from his sight, and it made not a sound other than the soft hum of occasional vibrations as it slid across the floor, one notification at a time.

K.O. Outtake #3: The Bitter Taste of Defeat

The following is an outtake from You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public. This text was ultimately edited out of the final version for one reason or another (redundant, or didn't fit the book's tone, or distracted from the book's main themes, etc.), but I'm including it here because at least one beta reader mentioned that he or she found it worth reading.

The Bitter Taste of Defeat

Capturing raw, fleeting moments of nature often requires a certain degree of fortuitous timing: having the camera aimed and ready precisely when that sea lion leaps from the water, flailing for its life, millimeters away from gruesome laceration by a great white's razor-sharp teeth. A flicker of time that lasts perhaps only a millisecond — gone in the blink of an eye — can be immortalized by a photographer with a lot of luck and lot of patience.

Snapping this particular photo required no such luck or patience, because throughout the entire twenty-minute train ride this gentleman's tongue only protruded farther and farther from his mouth. As if he had accidentally swallowed bathroom cleaner, he continually puckered his face and clenched his closed eyes into a bitter scowl that bore a striking resemblance to the neon-green icky face of Mr. Yuk poison stickers.

K.O. Outtake #2: The Last Supper

The following is an outtake from You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public. This text was ultimately edited out of the final version for one reason or another (redundant, or didn't fit the book's tone, or distracted from the book's main themes, etc.), but I'm including it here because at least one beta reader mentioned that he or she found it worth reading.

The Last Supper

Like a dismembered limb twitching on its own, his right hand unconsciously clawed away at the empty basket, in search of the hamburger that was no more. His diagonal and unintuitive alignment with the table, with its pointed corner jabbing into his chest, suggests that his body had urgently shut down post-feast amidst his attempt to stand up and leave. Though he might have eaten his entire meal while seated this way, that seems unlikely because his chair partially blocked the walkway of this narrow restaurant, and the Japanese typically frown upon this sort of obtrusive public nuisance, even such a minor one.

Similar to the tight confines of economy-class airplane seating, most places in Japan afford patrons barely enough room to fit — or in the case of larger patrons, not nearly enough room to fit — with an unspoken understanding of common courtesy that one should avoid spilling over into a neighbor's seat, into the walkway, etc. In Japanese society an unambiguous line usually separates the acceptable (passing out in public) from the unacceptable (sprawling out in public).

K.O. Outtake #1: The Slippery Slope

The following is an outtake from You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public. This text was ultimately edited out of the final version for one reason or another (redundant, or didn't fit the book's tone, or distracted from the book's main themes, etc.), but I'm including it here because at least one beta reader mentioned that he or she found it worth reading.

In this context, the term "K.O." (or knockout) refers to losing consciousness in public.

The Slippery Slope

This gentleman's tangled mess of limbs serves as a prime example of the unforeseen sucker punch K.O., where the victim probably had no intention of snoozing but rather ended up sliding down the slippery slope of sleepiness, perhaps beginning with the innocent notion of resting one's eyes or leaning against a handrail.

Because the sucker punch K.O. strikes without warning, it often results in unpredictable, improbable postures as exhibited here: his left hand gently cupping his bosom while with his right hand he appears to be throwing out a limp-fingered attempt at a Bloods gang sign. Perhaps the train car would have echoed with soft, mumbled gang calls of "su-wu" and "wes' side" if not for the victim's shoulder strap partially asphyxiating him. And if not for his arm fortuitously lodging inside the handrail, he likely would have found himself pretzeled up on the floor.

The tiny splotches of red wine on his shirt perhaps offer a clue as to the origin of where it all started to go downhill.