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About Fukuoka

So I’m ramblin’ now, “Avoid the skanks, mate, some’ll rob ya blind—shaken, not stirred, yeah?” He’s edgin’ to the door, clutchin’ his wallet like it’s gold. I yell after him, “Don’t be a wanker, wrap it up!” Total Bond move, savin’ his arse. Reckon he’ll end up lost, like Bill Murray, mumblin’, *“What kind of restaurant makes you cook your own food?”*—but with hookers instead of teppanyaki. What a plonker. Me? I’m back to beepin’ cans, dreamin’ of Tokyo nights.

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So, I’m walking down the main street, and I see this old lady selling fresh mochi. I love mochi! I’m like, “Yo, give me some of that!” But then, I realize I left my wallet at home. Ugh! I was so mad! I mean, who forgets their wallet? Me, apparently.

Same woman dances her way through Osaka’s Bon odori events