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About Fukuoka

Oh, and the oil—smells like sex and flowers. Slippery as a Lannister lie. I ask her, “What’s in this?” She says, “Secret.” Secret my arse—I bet it’s just posh lard. Still, I’m floatin’, mate. Floatin’. “What does it mean?” I mumble, like some twat from the movie. She don’t answer—just keeps rubbin’. Good enough for me.

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Then, I got hungry again. Surprise, surprise! I found this little ramen joint on Sakae-dori. The owner was this sweet old lady who looked like she could’ve been my grandma. I ordered the tonkotsu ramen, and it was like a hug in a bowl. I was slurping away, and she kept refilling my tea. I felt so at home. But then, I spilled some broth on my shirt. Ugh, typical me. I laughed it off, but inside, I was like, “Great, now I look like a mess.”

Involvement of the Rostromedial Prefrontal Cortex in Human-Robot Interaction: fNIRS Evidence From a Robot-Assisted Motor Task