Joel listened as they strolled further through the warehouse to the zone he and Tommy paid for storage. It wasn’t a terribly big plot, about two car lengths, and only occupied by a pair of large, faded-teal containers marked from Yokohama with Japanese and English shipping instructions pressed into the outside. The container itself sported the old Nissan, Sun and Bar logo and in a spray stenciled font below was Apex Designs – SOL City, US. They always capitalized “Sol” for whatever reason and Joel found it amusing. He stooped down to read the Bill of Laden than hung off the box in a plastic sleeve. Most of the text was in Japanese, which he could read about half. The rest was Daedalus import and US Customs documents with weights measurements and various signoffs from all involved in shipping. He’d already inspected the boxes and their contents once before, but with time to kill and present company he decided he’d do another quick check over. One way he screened women’s interest in him by how much of his hobbies they could tolerate. 

“Oh, just creeping on girls at the airport mostly.” He replied taking the outside of the container apart from the buckles. He spoke with stone sincerity before glancing back with a slight smirk. He’d loosed the interior bracing when the two engines had first arrived several weeks ago. He and Tommy had negotiated for four of the large Nissan Motorsport V-8’s. One came before last year’s race, the one they’d actually used in the race, another shortly after then two more this year. He took out his phone and peeled back the plastic wrap examining the block with the phone’s light. “No. I got a little shop on the Southside,” He said without looking up. “I build these cars… That thing out there is one mine, one of my customer’s” He stretched around awkwardly to get a better view, still talking. “Domesitcs aren’t my specialty though, I prefer these, even some European stuff.”

Somewhere in the background a [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=07Q_anwjebM]radio played[/url] at one of the small parcel desks. Joel was never able to tune out ambient music, always hearing [i]every[/i] song. It sounded like that retched [i]10.3 Razzle-Jazzle[/i]. He remembered reading that Swan Songs owner’s record collection had mysteriously [i]not[/i] been damaged by the fire sprinklers.[i] What a damn shame[/i] he thought.