Esme Takashima Brothel ❤️

About Fukuoka

Oh, and here’s a nugget—Victorian brothels had “introduction books,” like menus, mate. “Blonde, brunette, or redhead?”—proper posh, but sleazy. Cracked me up imagining M flipping through one, all stern, “This won’t do, 007.” Reckon she’d torch the place. Me? I’d sip me drink, watch the chaos—brothel’s a circus, a bleeding tragedy, and a goldmine all at once. “I’m programmed for pleasure,” says Joe in *A.I.*, and ain’t that the truth here? Just don’t ask who’s pulling strings—gets messy.

Reader Supported

So, I hit the streets early, like around 7 AM. The sun was just peeking over the hills, and I was feeling good. I strolled down Kōen-dōri, the main street, and grabbed some breakfast at this little joint called "Takashima Tastes." Best onigiri ever! Seriously, I could eat those all day. But then, bam! My phone buzzes. It’s my buddy Kenji. He’s like, “Yo, meet me at the pier!”

Expansion–contraction of photoresponsive artificial muscle regulated by host–guest interactions