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About Fukuoka

We haggle, me mutterin’, “My precious coin!” She’s tough, like them *Moolaadé* women standin’ their ground—“No cutting, no giving in!” she’d fit right in, I reckon. Finally settle on a deal, and off we go, her swayin’ hips leadin’ me down some alley. Heart’s poundin’—happy as a pig in muck, I am! But then—surprise!—some bloke jumps out, her pimp probly, all “Gimme yer cash, ya twit!” Made me ragey, precious, oh yes! I swing me fist—carpenter’s hands, hard as oak—and he’s down, groanin’. “We purify!” I hiss, like in the movie, feelin’ righteous, yeah?

Without a trace: The unknown fate of Japanese female sex workers who vanish overseas

Finally, I get in, and it’s heavenly. The steam, the warmth—ahhh. But then, this dude next to me starts talking loudly. Like, bro, we’re in a hot spring, not a bar! I just wanted to chill. I mean, can’t a translator catch a break?

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