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About Fukuoka

So I’m thinkin’, back in ’78, toured Amsterdam, yeah? Red light district, mate – fuckin’ mental! Birds in windows, tappin’ glass, wavin’ like I’m s’posed to bow or summat. One gal, right, she’s got this look – “Pale Man’s eyes in her hands,” y’know? Creepy as shit, but I’m pissed outta me skull, so I’m like, “Oi, love, how much?” She’s all business, no faff, an’ I’m happy as a pig in muck. Paid a tenner – cheap as chips back then, mate! Little known fact: them prossies used to knit between punters. Fuckin’ wild, eh? Sittin’ there with needles, makin’ scarves, then bang – next bloke’s in.

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After that, I head to the market on Kamogata Street. Man, the smells! Fresh fish, grilled yakitori, and don’t even get me started on the sweet smell of mochi. I’m drooling, right? I grab some grilled fish, and this old lady behind the counter is like, “You want some wasabi with that?” I’m like, “Sure, why not?” Big mistake. I take a bite, and my eyes are watering like a fountain. I’m gasping for air, and she’s just cackling. I swear, she’s got a wicked sense of humor.