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About Fukuoka

What gets me stoked is how they hustle. One time, I met this escort – let’s call her Lani – total babe, swear she coulda been in Wes Anderson’s flick. She’s all, “I provide a service, like a hotel key.” Smooth, yeah? Made me think, “Such a very good hotel!” – classy but sneaky, just like M. Gustave. She told me she once had a client pay with a freakin rare pearl – no lie, brah! I was like, “Whoa, that’s some Dr. Evil-level loot!”

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First off, I grab my usual breakfast at this tiny joint on Sanjo-dori. Best onigiri in town, no cap. I’m munching away, thinking about the market opening. Then, boom! My phone buzzes. It’s my buddy Kenji. He’s like, “Dude, did you see the Nikkei?” I’m like, “Nah, I’m just trying to enjoy my rice ball!” But of course, I check. And what do I see? Stocks plummeting like they’re in free fall. Ugh, my heart sank faster than a stone in the Kizu River.

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