The Australian walks across the road. The red man is on – a silent signal. His right arm – the Australian’s – trembles, a disorder that couldn’t be cured.
“Now I’m torn between loyalties. You know, in Tokyo, they don’t cross when the light’s red? They’ll stop and wait there at the line…” the Australian droned to another man beside him.
Traffic drowns out the rest of the conversation. His friend would have heard the rest.
Moments later the green man blinks.
A Japanese woman, small in stature, runs in the man’s footsteps. She catches up with the voice before it fades entirely into the night.
“Guilty, guilty,” she says in a high-pitch voice.