The end of summer. On a plane on the England to France flight, a gentleman resembling a fat Henry Fonda, who had asked me the time in a low voice, showed me his vintage wind-up wristwatch and pulled a funny face: 'My watch is on Continental Time.' But since he was handsome to begin with, even that looked sharp. When I said, 'My head is still on Japan Times too,' the gentleman, clowning, made a gesture of taking off his watch and throwing it out of the window. I still don't know the time, but that's probably fine. Because he is probably a bohemian. Summertime, on that summer's day. That's the kind of story it is. Man Katano