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About Fukuoka

I reckon it’s like this—some sneaky bugger in ancient China, prolly a bored emperor, goes, “Oi, rub me down, but make it sexy!” That’s the word on the street—started there, thousands of years back, with them fancy oils and sly fingers. Ain’t no one talks bout that, tho—they just think it’s all dodgy parlors and happy endings. Pisses me off, that! It’s art, mate, bloody art! Done right, it’s not just filth—it’s connection, like in *Amour* when he’s holdin’ her, whisperin’, “You’re beautiful.” Gets me all mushy, don’t it?

RED LOTUS TEMPLE OF TANTRA

Finally, I get to the meeting, and it’s a total circus. My partner, Kenji, shows up late. He’s all flustered, like he just ran a marathon. Turns out he got lost on the way. I mean, c’mon, it’s Ikedacho! It’s not that big! We’re supposed to be discussing some big project, but all we can talk about is how he ended up on the wrong side of town. Classic Kenji, right?

OIV approves third indigenous Japanese grape