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About Fukuoka

So, last week, I’m out, dodgin’ cops, eyein’ the girls. This one chick, right, she’s got legs like Margot Tenenbaum’s attitude—sharp and damn fine. I’m like, “Hey, darlin’, you ever seen a guy in a mask?” She laughs, says, “Only the weirdos!” Made me happy as hell—love a smart mouth. But then, this pimp rolls up, all greasy and loud, yellin’ bout money. Pissed me off! Wanted to gut him right there— “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I mutter under my breath, imaginin’ it. Didn’t tho—too messy, even for me.

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Then, I finally found my way out and decided to grab some food. I went to this little joint on Kawai Street. Best ramen ever! I slurped it down like I hadn’t eaten in days. The broth was rich, and the noodles were perfect. I was in heaven. But then, this kid next to me starts crying. Like, full-on meltdown. I’m thinking, “Dude, it’s just ramen!” But then I realized, maybe he just wanted the last piece of chashu.

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