One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo’s fashionable Harajuku neighbourhood, I walk past the 100% perfect girl. So what do I do? I stop and glance back; discretely. She was stunning from to toe in her Hollaback Girl outfit.
‘God,’ I thought. ‘I can’t let this go. I have to do something.’
And then on autopilot I did. I turned round and walked up to her. She seemed in a daze; a million miles away. I stood there for a moment. Another rush came.
“Do you remember me? I spoke to you last week,” I said.
There was no response. She stood the same way, as ever. Her blue eyes penetrated the scene behind me. Not a hair out of place and a complexion to die for.
“I…I…I w..w..was wondering,” I said. “I..i..is it possible that you may just have noticed me. I’ve been here a few times now. I must stick out like a sore thumb. The red hair is definitely a give away. And the earings? Look, the skin. I’m black for gods sake. You don’t get many of me around here.”
Nothing; as usual she stared directly into the crowd. My blood was boiling so I went to take her hand. Suddenly, men were taking my arms and marching me off. I reached the door and they let go.
“Sir. You no come here any more. You banned. You go Geisha, get good time. Our models not for you,” said the store manager.
God I was pissed.