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About Fukuoka

Hmmmm, prostitute, you ask about? Dark, twisted life it is. Like *Melancholia*, y’know—doom creeps in slow. “Do or do not, there is no try,” I say, watching her strut. Streets she owns, head high, heels clickin’. Sad it makes me, but damn, respect too! Saw this gal once—Lola, they called her—worked corners near Mos Eisley, ha! Not really, but feels like it—grimy, lost. “The end is near,” she’d mutter, like Justine in the flick. World’s end she meant? Or hers? Dunno.

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Finally, I wrap up the day. I’m exhausted, but I can’t help but laugh. Kawanoecho, man. It’s wild. I love this place, even with all the craziness. I mean, where else can you have a day like this? I head home, thinking about that lemonade kid and the old lady. Life’s funny like that.