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About Fukuoka

So, picture this—I’m snoopin’ around, chattin’ up folks, and boom, there’s this gal on the corner, all sass, no filter. Reminds me of that scene where Ines is like, “What the hell, Dad?!”—except it’s me goin’, “What the hell, world?!” Prostitution’s legal some places, like Germany—yep, *Toni Erdmann* land—since 2002. Taxes paid, health checks, the works. But here? Shady as fuck. Makes me mad, ya know? These girls deserve better than dodgin’ creeps and cops.

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I start my day at this little café on Asama Street. The coffee? Pure magic. I mean, I’m no connoisseur, but I could’ve sworn I heard angels singing when I took that first sip. But then, bam! My phone buzzes. It’s my boss. “Hey, can you give a lecture today?” Ugh, like I’m not already stressed.

Japanese learn to wear down the heat