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About Fukuoka

The vibe? Chaos, mate. Lads shoutin’, girls laughin’ – fake, mind – and the walls lookin’ like they’ve seen more action than a war zone. Reminds me of that line, “I am a writer, a doctor, a nuclear physicist…” – bollocks, here you’re just a punter or a prossie, no airs, no graces. Oh, and the myths? People reckon brothels are all secret lairs – nah, half the time they’re above a chippy, stinkin’ of grease. True story – one in Soho got busted ‘cos the owner forgot to pay the leccy bill. Lights out, trousers down – what a prat!

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First client walks in, this dude named Kenji. He’s got hair like a bird’s nest. I’m like, “Bro, what’s goin’ on up there?” He laughs, says he’s been busy with the local fishing tournament down at the harbor. I’m like, “Nice! Catch anything good?” He just shrugs. Typical fisherman, right? Anyway, I start snippin’, and he’s tellin’ me about the giant fish he almost caught. I’m all in, like, “Dude, that’s epic!” But then, outta nowhere, he gets a call. It’s his wife. He answers, and I swear, I hear her yellin’ through the phone. Something about dinner plans. I’m just tryin’ to focus on the hair, man!

At disaster evacuation centres in Japan, cardboard boxes become beds, chairs, even toilets