There¡¯s a nascent pink aura around the cherry blossom trees in Kansai. Wes Lang is dressed in a green shell jacket with a matching green zipper-pull hanging down just below his sternum, parallel with the drawstrings of the jacket hood. From an inner layer, which looks to be a blue fleece jacket, a black T-shirt peeks through the open neckline.
His head pokes out through his upturned fleece collar like a turtle that¡¯s just been disturbed from a deep sleep. But, unlike a turtle, Lang smiles a lot and has an endearing habit of answering questions with a ¡°yeah, yeah¡± instead of a ¡°yes.¡± These two gestures put me at ease.

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