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About Fukuoka

But yo, some clients? Trash. Had me mad as hell. Dudes actin’ entitled, like, *“I paid, so bow.”* Nah, son, respect the game! Reminds me of Haneke’s village—*“Evil grows in silence.”* Creeps me out, real talk. Still, some escorts flip it—boss energy. One time, this dude tried flexin’, she shut him down, kept the cash. Savage! YOLO, live that power.

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If and when challenged, the traffickers claim a relationship with the women or children, who they claim to escort to a festival or to visit.

Then, I decide to grab some food. I find this little spot called “Hashima Café.” It’s tiny but cozy. I order some ramen, and let me tell you, it was bomb! I’m slurping away, and the owner starts chatting me up. He’s like, “You know, Hashima used to be a bustling city.” I’m nodding, trying not to choke on my noodles.

Fact check: This optical illusion does not measure your stress levels