The little boy dressed in brown corduroy pants and a red sweater stood at the stoplight. Two older girls in school uniforms called “Ebi-kun!” but he ignored them, intent on getting across the moment the light changed.

“Arrrrwah!” he growled and took off at a run, six-year-old legs pumping as fast as they could towards a large cluster of chatting middle school students on the opposite side of Kasuga Dori. He dodged their blue uniforms and turned left, running full bore through another rank of after-school conversations.

Two boys at the perimeter saw him coming and held out their hands, smiling. He tore through their barrier, turning to shout a greeting as his fuchsia tote bag flew behind him like a cape. He barely broke stride before swinging back towards his destination, a side street into a residential area.

By the time I crossed the Kasuga Dori and reached the street he turned down, he’d vanished. I wonder what compelled him to run so urgently? He seemed too happy to be late. Maybe his mother baked him cookies. Regardless, it really did look like a scene from a little European art film.