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“Hey, there! Beautiful morning, huh?” he announces, flashing white teeth at her. They go around the cul-de-sac before Kojimora pulls up beside her, stopping at the light. Kojimora grins, and looks at his two companions, as he smoothly as he puts his car back into gear.
#Morioh cho radio you are my woman skin
Thick face paint over tanned skin and wild blonde hair streaked with pink make her look like an outlandish figure from Kabuki theater.
A sight to behold, the girl stares with a puzzled look at her smartphone. They lay their eyes on a single girl, sitting on a suitcase at the side of the small fountain in front of the train station. They both notice Sosuke’s pointing finger, directing their eyes to the opposite corner of the intersection. “What?! What is it?!” Kojimora shouts, bracing for catastrophe. Kojimora stops, slamming the brakes, making the muscle car lurch forward several inches, stopping right at the turn into the train station plaza, stalling the engine.
#Morioh cho radio you are my woman full
“Patient? Piss off, you’re so full of shit! As goddamn usual…” “So, where are all the ‘fine ladies’, Kojimora? Most I’ve seen is the same washboard chicks we see on the street every day.” Kojimora appears less confident in his plan, as Panko smirks. The car speeds up the road, as Panko lays in the back, skeptical of the whole thing.Ī solid hour passes, and the boys have found no luck. “That sounds great!” Sosuke declares, fully on board as he pats Kojimora’s shoulder.
#Morioh cho radio you are my woman how to
“Yeah man! Think about it! All those fine-ass ladies getting off from college or whatever, coming down to sunny seaside Morioh to have a good time, they’ll need somebody to show them around, show them how to have fun.
#Morioh cho radio you are my woman crack
“Wait, seriously? That’s… that’s why we’re out here at the crack of dawn? To… pick up chicks?!” Panko blinks at his friend, finally understanding. “Summer means vacations, vacations mean partying, and partying…” Kojimora pauses, grinning as he builds anticipation to his point.
And Morioh, this lovely place we live in, is a resort town. Vacation time for all those hard-working folks up in Tokyo. “That’s always been your problem, Panko,” Kojimora says, voice smeared with wisdom, “you always fail to see opportunity in your situation.” “There’s nothing good to do at all, DAMN it!” their friend in the backseat exclaims at length, throwing his head back against his seat’s headrest. At certain points, the bay can be seen in gaps between the buildings, stretching out westward to become the Pacific Ocean. The garish vehicle drives aimlessly through the mostly empty street of Morioh town. “Like what? There’s nothing good on at this time of day, anyway.” Kojimora casts a look at his passenger, as he starts changing the station. “Turn that shit off, Kojimora,” he hisses to the driver, “Put some real tunes on.” And for whatever reason, the young man in the passenger seat can’t stand it. It croons out of the stereo speaker of a purple muscle-car cruising down the quiet streets of Morioh, Japan. Forgettable music, catchy while it plays, but leaves no impact once it finishes. Harada’s voice is replaced by the inoffensive swell of an American pop song from the previous year. Summer is finally here, and we’re up for a beautiful day! I’ve got the perfect music for you to start your morning!” He continues in Japanese, “Greetings, everyone, once again, this is your neighbor, Kai Harada with Morioh-cho Radio. “Good morning!” says Kai Harada in charmingly mispronounced English.
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