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About Fukuoka

But then—ugh—the smell! Can we talk about that? Stale beer, cheap perfume, unwashed socks—gimme a break! I’d be gaggin’ five minutes in. And the noise! Moanin’, laughin’, some idiot bangin’ a piano off-key. I’d go nuts! “What’s this racket?!” I’d scream, like a lunatic. Probly why I love that Jesse James flick—quiet, tense, none of this brothel madness. “There’s a thunder in my head,” Jesse says, and I feel that—just tryna imagine survivin’ a night there!

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After a few more patients, I finally get a break. I step outside for some fresh air on Koshigaya Street. The sun’s setting, and it’s beautiful. I see the cherry blossoms starting to bloom. I’m like, “Wow, Ishige, you’re kinda pretty.”

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