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About Fukuoka

So, picture this – I’m cruisin’ Miami, neon lights flashin’, lookin’ for some action. Not just any chick, nah, I’m talkin’ pros, the real deal. You don’t just stumble on ‘em, nah, it’s a game. Back in the day, they’d hang by the docks – little known fact, bro – sailors rollin’ in, horny as fuck, droppin’ cash. Now? Shit’s digital, apps and ads, but some still old-school it, street corners, smokin’ cigs, givin’ you that look. “I glean therefore I am,” like Varda says – they’re out there, existin’, survivin’.

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First stop? Breakfast at this tiny joint on Kōen-dōri. They serve the best tamagoyaki. I mean, it’s like a fluffy egg hug. I was munchin’ away, and this old dude next to me starts talkin’ about the cherry blossoms. I’m like, “Bro, it’s not even spring!” But he was super passionate. I just nodded, pretending to care.

Tasting event with jumbo 780,000 kcal instant noodles breaks Guinness record