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About Fukuoka

Escort’s quirky, innit? Little-known fact: first ones rolled out ‘68, Ford tryna flex on British roads. Had this boxy vibe, not sleek like Joaquin’s AI lass in *Her*— “I’m yours and I’m not yours,” she’d say to it, ha! Me fave’s the Mark IV, tho—turbo version, zippy little bugger! Once saw a lad soup one up, neon lights, loud as a warg—surprised me guts out! Thought, “Sméagol needs that!” But nah, me bank account’s a sad hobbit hole. Still, Escort’s cheap thrill—parts everywhere, like goblin loot! Not like them fancy Teslas, all “oooh, I’m electric”—piss off, posh twats!

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But I get back up, and I’m like, “Not today, bull!” I charge in, and it’s a wild ride. I’m dodgin’ and weavin’, and for a second, I feel invincible. But then, the bull gets a little too close for comfort. I swear, I can feel its breath. It’s like, “Dude, back off!”

For Criterion Consideration: Isao Takahata’s Grave Of The Fireflies