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About Fukuoka

I reckon you start online—X posts, coded ads. “Massage, wink wink”—fuckin obvious. Or hit the dives, smoky pubs where eyes linger too long. Reminds me, Clarice, of Mia’s mum screamin, “Get out, you little bitch!”—that chaos, that edge. You feel it when you’re close. Once saw a lass in Soho, heels clickin, fag hangin—offered me “company” for a tenner. Bargain, I thought—laughed my arse off. She glared, I bolted.

A word of warning: Hostess bars and the red-light district

Now, let me tell you about the streets of Funagata. They’re a mix of old-school charm and modern vibes. I zipped past the old wooden houses on Kameyama, then hit the main drag, where all the shops are. I swear, I could smell the yakitori from a mile away. My stomach growled, but I had no time to eat. Plates first, food later, right?

One dead, three missing as heavy rain batters Tohoku