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About Fukuoka

Picture this: seedy parlor, neon sign flickering "Massage" like it’s winking at you. Walked in once—pure curiosity, swear—smelled like lavender and regret. Lady says, “Relax, hon,” but her eyes scream, “I hate my life.” Everybody lies, told ya. Hands sliding everywhere, kneading crap I didn’t know was tense. Felt good, sure, but also pissed me off—why’s this not free? Capitalism screws us again. Little factoid: ancient Rome had these “massage” joints too—called ‘em *lupanars*. Fancy word for rub-and-tug. History’s kinky, who knew?

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Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being an elevator operator in Mifune is like riding a rollercoaster, but without the safety bar. So, I roll into work, right? It’s a sunny morning, and I’m thinkin’, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

‘Yojimbo’ and ‘Sanjuro’: A Solitary Samurai Born of Collaboration