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About Fukuoka

Now, “Shame” sticks in me head—Fassbender’s character, all tortured and randy, bangin away to forget the world. “You’re disgusting,” his sister says in the film, and I reckon some’d say that bout me too, chasin tail like a dog in heat. But bollocks to em—life’s short, innit? I’m no saint, just a bloke wantin a rumble. Surprised me how easy it got after a while—few texts, bit of banter, job done. Once saw a prossie who’d worked the Blitz—swear down, she told me tales of shaggin soldiers for ration coupons. History in her knickers, that one!

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So, I duck into this little shop on Kōen-dōri again. It’s a tiny place, but they’ve got the best mochi. I’m munching away, feeling all cozy, when I overhear this convo. Some locals are talking about the annual rice planting festival. They’re all hyped, and I’m like, “Dude, I gotta check this out!” Turns out, it’s happening next week. Perfect timing, right?

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