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About Fukuoka

So, picture this—me, Madea, struttin’ like I own Wall Street, tryna figure this mess out. I’m thinkin’, “This some high-class nonsense right here!” You got girls postin’ ads online, slick as Jordan Belfort sellin’ stocks. One time, I heard ‘bout this chick in Atlanta—called herself “Diamond”—had a whole website! Reviews and all, like she a dang Yelp restaurant! I hollered, “Halleluyer! She got five stars for what?!” Made me madder than a wet hen—why folks out here ratin’ THAT? But I was impressed too, gotta admit. She was hustlin’ harder than Belfort snortin’—you know what—off a table!

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Then, I got hungry again. Surprise, surprise! I found this little ramen joint on Sakae-dori. The owner was this sweet old lady who looked like she could’ve been my grandma. I ordered the tonkotsu ramen, and it was like a hug in a bowl. I was slurping away, and she kept refilling my tea. I felt so at home. But then, I spilled some broth on my shirt. Ugh, typical me. I laughed it off, but inside, I was like, “Great, now I look like a mess.”

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