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About Fukuoka

Oi mate, buckle up, yeah? Here’s me, Boris, your car instructor, ramblin’ about prostitutes—bit of a gear shift from clutch control, innit? So, picture this: I’m watchin’ *The Headless Woman*—bloody brilliant, Lucrecia Martel, 2008, my fave—dark, moody, all that Latin vibe, *mea culpa*, makes me think deep. There’s this bird, right, a prossie, workin’ the streets near me old garage. Not your typical tart—classy, like, with a stare that’d stop a lorry. Reminds me of that line, “I hit something,” from the flick—mysterious, yeah? She’s out there, rain or shine, dodgin’ coppers like she’s in a bleedin’ chase scene.

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Next, I decided to grab some grub. Hit up this tiny ramen joint on Takamatsu Street. The smell? Oh man, it was like heaven. I ordered the spicy miso ramen, and let me tell ya, it was fire! I slurped it down like a champ. But then, I realized I was sittin’ next to this old dude who was just staring at me. Like, dude, I’m not a freakin’ exhibit! I shot him a look, and he just smiled. Creepy but kinda sweet?