Impul have been responsible for countless GT and Formula Nippon triumphs, running consistently at the front in Japanese motor sport over the last decade. It’s not so much ‘blink and you miss it’ as ‘don’t look up and you miss it’, because the only obvious external cues are the big signs on the wall and above the windows. Impul’s garage is an unassuming building at the side of a busy, leaf-lined road, hemmed in between an American car importer and a vehicle hire firm. Two trains, a brief walk and the obligatory stop at a Calpis vending machine later, I was there. I hadn’t had time to do my homework other than to find out which station to get off at and which of Tokyo’s many rail lines to take to get there, so it would have to be a flying visit. This time, though, I was heading west out into the huge and largely residential Setagaya Ward, to the Sakuragaoka area. Much like the Nismo visit, I had to jump on a train out to the sticks of Tokyo to get there. If you look carefully you’ll see the umbrella I left. Her clothes are absolutely soaked, she’s probably gonna get sick.Impul. The cold from the rain finally hits her, she crosses her arms and shivers. Either from the rain or the anger, maybe both. She’s never felt so mad at anyone in her life, her anger is pulsing through her veins and her whole body is shaking. She feels weird, she’s never screamed like that before at anyone. Maybe it’s because she knows she’s gonna have to go back at some point. She stops running to catch her breath, she’s trembling from the cold rain and fear from an unknown source. She almost slips a few times running on the sidewalk from the wet concrete.
#LOST UMBRELLA SKIN#
The rain is cold on her skin and soaks through her clothes quickly. She doesn’t listen, she just runs down the street, her brain is tuning the sound of her dad calling her back into the house. She runs out the door into the freezing rain. Kohane doesn't even think, she throws her slip ons on her feet. Huh, it seems like Kohane is a horrible daughter. “ …Huh, it seems like Kohane is a horrible daughter. “ No! NO! Dad please! I don’t wanna quit music! PLEASE! I don’t want that! I don’t want that! JUST SHUT UP! “ Kohane puts her hands on her head and digs her nails into her skull. Kohane clenches her fists and grits her teeth. “ This is who I am! You don’t get to control the person I get to be! “ “ Ughh-! I want to do this! You can’t control my life! “ “ Rebel…? What does street music have to do with me being a rebel?! “ “ What happened to the old Kohane? I refuse to be the father of a rebel. “ I would actually like it if you quit music altogether.
He waves his finger at her in an annoyed manner. “ No! I want to do this! Please let me do this! “ I would appreciate it if you switched genres of music. “ Dad-! I want to sing this kind of music! I want to sing at these places! I- “
And I just can’t see you sing street music anyways. I know you love to perform at these places but- it’s not safe. “ Well… it depends when me and- when I can get a gig there. “ How often do you perform at these live houses? “ I promise I’ll be okay and I’ll stay safe. Kohane starts to sweat, she never told her dad she was performing at live houses. “ Have you been performing there lately? “ “ Have you been going to those live houses down at… hmm… “ Her dad stares at her for a moment, it makes her feel uncomfortable. Her dad’s voice drags her out of her daze, she stands and exits her room and walks down the stairs. “ Kohane-! Can you come downstairs please? I need to talk to you. The sun had already set and she could see the outline of the raindrops from the light from the lamp posts near the street. Tiny raindrops landed on the window, running down to the bottom of the glass, and then falling to land on the grass.
#LOST UMBRELLA WINDOWS#
Kohane is in her room, looking out the windows into the outside. The sound it made when it hit the ground and the fresh, pleasant smell it gave off.
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