Shingo’s standing next to the traffic light when he saw the man, hair so long that his fringe covered half his face, body so thin he might as well be a skeleton, and his eyes - dear God, he had those strange bloodshot eyes that seemed to be staring straight into his soul. Shingo couldn’t move, paralyzed by that stare.
The man stepped forward. At the back of his mind, Shingo knew the man’s in trouble - the light hadn’t turned green yet - but he wasn’t able to respond.
One more step. The man smiled, baring an incomplete set of decayed teeth.
One more step. Pedestrians were shouting.
One more step. Brakes squealed.
The man went down.
And Shingo still couldn’t stop staring.