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About Fukuoka

Oi, thou saucy rogue! Erotic-massage, eh? A crafty art, methinks—hands gliding o’er flesh like whispers in the Tokyo night. Saw it once, aye, in some dim-lit den, all shadows and sighs. Made me bloody happy, it did—tensions meltin’ like ice in a gin glass. “I’m too old,” quoth Bob Harris in *Lost in Translation*, but nah, mate, this ain’t about age—it’s soul-deep, a quiet storm of touch.

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First off, I hit up the local market on Kōen-dōri. You know, the one with all the fresh veggies and fish? I’m just tryna grab some ingredients for my lunch. But nah, the fish guy, Mr. Tanaka, decides today’s the day to haggle like it’s the Olympics. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just a mackerel!” But he’s all, “No way, man! This is the freshest catch!” I’m like, “Yeah, fresh enough to swim back to the ocean!”

New Japan Cup Night 4 results: Kojima vs. Suzuki