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About Fukuoka

So, dig this—little known fact, swear down: back in Victorian times, prossies had secret codes, flashin handkerchiefs to signal punters. Wild, innit? Bet they’d laugh at us now, fumblin about like numpties. I’m thinkin, “Gordon, keep it sharp, don’t settle for slop!”—like Remy dodgin them crap chefs. Found this one bird eventually—fit, cheeky, knew her game. Made me grin, proper chuffed— “This is my moment!” I says, like that rat tastin soup.

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First off, I hit up the local konbini on Kōen-dōri. Gotta love those 24/7 spots. Grabbed my usual onigiri and a can of that weird green tea. I swear, it tastes like grass but in a good way? Anyway, I’m munching away, and boom! I spill half my breakfast on the sidewalk. Classic me, right?