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About Fukuoka

Lemme tell ya, mate, it’s old—ancient, even! Egyptians did it, slippin’ oils on pharaohs, sneaky lil’ rubs in tombs. Bet they moaned louder than me with a fresh loaf! Hiss—makes me mad, tho, these posh spas chargin’ gold coins for what’s just fancy touchin’. Back in Shire-days, we’d call it dodgy, but now? “Therapy,” they hiss, all smug. Bollocks! I’d slap ‘em with a soggy baguette, yesss.

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So, I’m fuming, right? I decide to grab a coffee at this cute little spot on Kōen-dōri. It’s called Café Inami, and let me tell ya, their matcha latte is to die for. I’m standing in line, and this old dude in front of me is taking forever. Like, c’mon man, it’s just coffee! I’m about to lose it when he turns around and starts chatting me up about the cherry blossoms. I’m like, “Yeah, they’re pretty, but I need caffeine!”

VOX POPULI: The late Ritsuko Inami had an ingrained sense of human nature