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About Fukuoka

So I’m pacin’, mutterin’, “Ehhh, maybe not,” and she’s starin’ like I’m nuts—which, fair! I’m thinkin’ *Brooklyn* again—“The life I might have had!”—and I’m like, “Yeah, not this one!” I’m happy I didn’t trip over my own feet, though—small victories. Surprised me how chill she was, too—like, “Buddy, decide already!” I’m exaggeratin’, sure, but I felt like a schmuck. Total schmuck. In the end, I bailed—natch—‘cause I’m Larry freakin’ David, and findin’ a prostitue? Too much hassle! Pretty, pretty good call, if ya ask me.

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First off, I hit up Kokusai Street. It’s this bustling place, full of shops and food stalls. I’m strolling, vibing, when BAM! I trip over a stray cat. Like, dude, watch where you’re going! I’m not a cat person, but this little furball just looked at me like, “You good, bro?” I laughed it off, but man, my coffee almost spilled.

80 years after World War II, Okinawa’s battle sites are still giving up bones and bombs