Claire Hashima Brothel ❤️

About Fukuoka

Sarcasm time—oh, such a noble trade, screwing for scraps. Still, beats kissing Tywin’s boots. “Lobby boy!” I’d yell, like Gustave, but at some trembling wench. Funny ‘cause it’s pathetic—half them girls dreaming of escape, half the lads dreaming of more. Disorderly? Good—my head’s a mess, brothels are worse. Spill wine, spill secrets, spill blood—same diff. You’d love it or loathe it, but you’d not forget it. Now sod off—I’m done.

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So, I keep wandering. I hit up “Kōen-dōri” again, and I see this old school building. It’s all covered in vines. I’m like, “Wow, nature’s reclaiming this place.” But then I see some graffiti. It says, “Hashima: The Island of Lost Dreams.” I laugh. Like, who even writes that? But it hits me, you know?

Abandoned island once a haven for the rich and now dark tourism hotspot