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About Fukuoka

Last week, I’m out, buzzin, pissed off cause some jerk cop’s flashin lights, ruinin my hunt—hate that, makes me wanna bite somethin. Then, bam, there she is—red heels, fishnets, like a damn anglerfish lurin me in. “How much?” I ask, all smooth, voice like silk over a blade. She smirks, “More than you got, fancy pants.” Cheeky! Love that, got me laughin—happy as a shark in blood. “I’m not a child,” she snaps, straight outta “Ten,” that sass, that fire—surprised me, gotta say, didn’t expect a street gal to hit me with philosophy.

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So, yeah, my day in Hashima was a rollercoaster. From tripping over bricks to eating ramen and watching kids play, it was intense. I’m heading back to the forest tomorrow, but I’ll carry this day with me. Hashima, you’ve got a piece of my heart now.

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