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About Fukuoka

I saunter over, cool as you like—gotta keep it smooth, right? “Evening, love,” I say, flashin’ that 007 grin. She’s all sass, “What’s yer poison, handsome?” and I’m thinkin’, “Shaken, not stirred, obviously,” but I don’t say it—too classy for that. Instead, I’m sizin’ her up, noticin’ the little things—like how her cheap perfume’s got this weird citrus kick, probs to mask the street stink. Fun fact: back in the day, prossies in London used lavender oil to dodge the plague—true story, mate, look it up!

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But then, outta nowhere, this guy walks in. He’s loud, obnoxious, and totally ruining the vibe. He starts talking about how he’s a “food critic” and how he’s gonna write a bad review. I was like, “Dude, chill! It’s just ramen!” I mean, who does that? I wanted to throw my chopsticks at him. But Yuki held me back. “Don’t start a scene,” she said. Ugh, fine!

Kyushu residents hope for end of disaster as Japan warns of further rain