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About Fukuoka

So, picture this—I’m walkin’ down some grimy street, right, and there’s this whore, bold as brass, leanin’ against a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like she owns the damn night. She’s got that *Fish Tank* vibe—Mia’s “You’re a right wanker, ain’t ya?” attitude—except she’s real, not some screen kid. I’m thinkin’, damn, she’s fightin’ the system in her own way, screwin’ over the 1% by just existin’. Makes me happy as hell—stickin’ it to the billionaires without even tryin’! But then—bam!—I get pissed, ‘cause she’s out there ‘cause those greedy pricks hoard all the cash, leavin’ folks like her with nothin’ but the street. “Billionaires should not exist!” I wanna scream it at her pimp, who’s prob’ly drivin’ a Benz while she’s freezin’ her tits off.

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Then, outta nowhere, this old dude walks by. He’s got a cane and a hat that looks like it’s from the 1800s. He stops, looks at me, and says, “You know, son, you’re gonna ruin your eyesight.” I’m like, “Thanks, Captain Obvious!” But then he starts telling me about the history of Kitakata. Apparently, this place was famous for its sake back in the day. I’m thinking, “Dude, I’m just trying to blast this thing, not write a history paper.” But I listen anyway.

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