And the man experienced this:

"Just when we were passing Sendagaya Elementary School on Meiji Avenue, I noticed a carrier pigeon hiding in the shrubbery. I saw that it seemed to have a broken wing, so I picked it up. A metal tag was affixed to its leg. Cradling it in my hands, I carried it to the small police station in Omotesando, adjacent to the Dojunkai-Aoyama Apartments (the present home of Omotesando Hills). As I walked along the side streets of Harajuku, the warmth of the wounded pigeon sank into my hands. I felt it quivering. That Sunday was bright and clear, and the trees, the buildings, and the shop windows sparkled in the spring sunlight. That’s when it hit me. I was going to win the prize. And I was going to go on to become a novelist who would enjoy some degree of success. It was an audacious presumption, but for some reason I was sure at that moment that it would happen. Completely sure. Not in a theoretical way, but directly and intuitively."