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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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But here’s the kicker. I get there, and the line is wrapped around the block! I’m standing there, fuming. Like, c’mon, people! It’s just a burger! But then I see this cute dog, and I’m like, “Aww, okay, I can chill.” Dogs make everything better, right?

Cobras strike late, but carry the day in Sasebo