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About Fukuoka

Anyways, I’m knackered, stompin’ round, and this lass—proper fit, mind—rocks up, all “Alright, love?” I’m like, “Bloody hell, you’re no M Gustave!”—y’know, that slick git from the flick, all charm and mustache. She’s more “I’ve seen worse, pay up!” Cacklin’ my arse off, cos it’s tragic, innit? She’s eyeballin’ me like I’m a twat in a lab coat—fair, I s’pose!

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Anyway, I shake it off and head to the famous Sandacho Fish Market. Man, that place is a riot! Fish everywhere, people yelling, and the smell? Whoa. I grab some fresh sashimi from this old dude named Mr. Tanaka. He’s got this wild mustache, like a walrus or something. I’m like, “Yo, Mr. Tanaka, this fish is bomb!” He just grins, showing off his missing teeth. Classic.