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About Fukuoka

Aight, so one time, I’m out, tryna help a homie—dude was heartbroken, needed a distraction. We hit this sketch spot, neon lights buzzin, air thick with desperation. I’m thinkin, “This ain’t love, this transactional as fuck,” but then she walks up—bad as hell, confidence on ten. I’m like, “Oh, she’s a problem!” Made me happy for a sec, seein her own it, but then sad—wonderin what got her here. “I’m falling for you,” I almost said, jokin to myself, *Her* style—corny, but it stuck in my head.

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After that, I was feeling kinda adventurous, so I decided to check out the Urakawa Museum. I thought it’d be boring, but it was actually super interesting. They had this exhibit on the local dialects. As a linguist, I was totally nerding out. I mean, who knew Urakawa had its own slang? I was jotting down notes like a madman. But then, I overheard this old guy talking about how the younger generation doesn’t use the dialect anymore. I felt a pang of sadness. Like, c’mon, keep the culture alive, people!

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