Fujimore was an engineer at CHB Nagasaki for eight years before he wandered up to the banks of that stream. It had been redirected through a large tunnel under the highway. When he saw this, a hundred yards up, Fujimore thought, “I have finally reached the end of the line.” Because there was no bridge to cross, and the highway was treacherous.    His reflexes were no good after eight years of office work, so he didn’t trust himself to the shoulder of the busy road, in case he might need to jump sharply out of the way. Yet, because he hesitated a bit longer, wandering closer to the water, he saw that there was — almost — a path of rocks he could use, stepping one by one, to cross it. And, for an engineer, this problem of approximating the adequate surface areas and slickness coefficient of each rock was much like what might happen if an autistic child wandered past one of those jars full of gumballs, the kind where customers are encouraged to guess how many gumballs there are in the jar. After a taciturn series of calculations, Fujimore gambled that if he took his first step […]