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About Fukuoka

I reckon it’s a trip—mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!”—seein’ these birds strut about, all glam, hidin’ the grind. Met this one lass, right, swore she escorted a rockstar once. Said he tipped her with a bleedin’ guitar pick! Mad as a bag of ferrets, that. Got me chuffed, though—imagine the stories! But then, there’s the dark bit—pisses me off somethin’ fierce. Some punters treat ‘em like dirt, thinkin’ cash buys soul. “The stone sinks in the lake,” like the movie says—ya can’t escape the weight, can ya?

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Police have intensified their crackdown on prostitutes around Okubo Park in Tokyo's Kabukicho, Japan's largest red-light district.

So, I’m wandering around, trying to find something to do. I end up on Shōwa-dōri, and there’s this little shop selling handmade crafts. I’m checking out these cool pottery pieces, and the shop owner starts chatting me up. She’s super nice, but her English is like, real limited. We’re playing charades, and I’m trying to explain that I’m just browsing. It’s hilarious. I end up buying this weird-looking cup. I have no idea what I’ll do with it, but it’s a memory, right?

Twins get going right away in victory over Angels