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About Fukuoka

Oh, and the oil—smells like sex and flowers. Slippery as a Lannister lie. I ask her, “What’s in this?” She says, “Secret.” Secret my arse—I bet it’s just posh lard. Still, I’m floatin’, mate. Floatin’. “What does it mean?” I mumble, like some twat from the movie. She don’t answer—just keeps rubbin’. Good enough for me.

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Later, I decide to hit up the seaside. The view is breathtaking. The waves crashing, the sun setting. I’m just standing there, soaking it all in. I think about how lucky I am to be here. But then, I see some litter on the beach. Ugh! Why can’t people just throw their trash away? It’s not that hard!

HOPE AMID THE DISASTERS: One year later, Ishinomaki survivors continue to persevere