He immediately arrested my attention on the streets of the Ginza. His bright yellow body suit and plastic sunflowers demanded it. The sign he held might have promised the glories of superior pensions plans. At least, that’s what the only two characters I could read said.
My poor attempts at literacy caught his eye. He began his dance: the dance of the huckster, timeless, though with his own unique twist of quirk. He proudly pointed this way and that, saluting his potential customers. He humbly bowed.
But as he rose from his bow, for just a second, the thin gossamer of his exuberance was revealed as it snagged on the smallest jutting edge of his jagged self-doubt. I caught something imploring from behind those steel rimmed frames; a crystalline moment of self-realisation in the agitation of the swirling crowds.
Although we couldn’t hear each other, or for that matter even speak a common tongue, his look spoke for him: “Is this really it? The way my story will end?”.
My look replied: “Yes. You are wearing a yellow bodysuit crowned with with a fluffy white star, holding a placard that might possibly be selling pensions plans, or possibly lawyer services. You are doomed.”
“Right then”, he said, and started his dance for the next passerby.