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About Fukuoka

Oi, precious, listen up! We swears! Findin’ a prossie ain’t no picnic, nah. Me, a charcoal burner, all sooty, stinkin’—who’d want that? But we needs it, don’t we, eh? Saw this one gal, right, by the docks—fishy smell, not just her job! Reminds me o’ “A Separation,” y’know? That flick—messy lives, secrets spillin’ like guts. “The truth doesn’t matter,” they said in it—hah! Same with prossies, mate. You don’t ask, they don’t tell.

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All the rooms and the walls were filthy. I will get tested if I keep feeling bad, though I think it might have been natural bacteria.

But then, as I was leaving, I tripped on the sidewalk. Classic me, right? I fell right in front of a group of tourists. They were all gasping, and I was like, “I’m fine! Just practicing my ninja skills!” They laughed, and I felt a bit better.

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