3:00 am. The strains of “La Cucaracha” invade my dream…and grow louder.
The song is so loud I suddenly realise it is not part of my dream. I look out the window in time to see three motorcycles, tricked out with the glow of blue and violet neon and a sound system loud enough to wake the dead (and certainly me), racing down the street with a police car chasing them. The police cruiser had its light on, but and mercifuylly spared us the siren.
I’ve heard of these motorcycle gangs, the bosozoku. They drive around the city at night making lots of noise and raising rabble. But usually in seedier areas–Shinjuku, Otsuka, Ikebukuro. I hope their trip through our neighborhood was the result of a wrong turn; I hate La Cucaracha.
