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About Fukuoka

So, I knew this chick once, right? Worked the streets, high-end stuff, not some cheap trick. She’d spill stories over whiskey—said clients ranged from lonely saps to freaky rich dudes wantin weird shit. One guy paid her to just sit there, silent, in a clown outfit—wtf, right? Made me laugh, then pissed me off—how fucked up’s that headspace? Little known fact: some escorts keep logs, like diaries, trackin every john. Tax man don’t know, ha!

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First off, I hit up the local konbini on Kōen-dōri for my usual coffee fix. You know, the one that’s basically rocket fuel? I’m standin’ there, half-asleep, and this old dude starts talkin’ to me about the weather. Like, c’mon man, it’s Japan, it’s either rainin’ or it’s not. But he’s goin’ on about how the cherry blossoms are late this year. I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, nature’s got its own schedule.”

The Pandemic’s Toll on the Dead