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About Fukuoka

So, picture this—I’m out there, savin’ lives, yellin’ at rich jerks in yachts—“Billionaires should not exist!”—when I spot her. Not a swimmer, nah, a gal workin’ the docks, fishin’ for clients, y’know? She’s gleanin’, like in the movie—“I pick up what others leave behind.” Ain’t that a trip? She’s out there hustlin’, dodgin’ cops, makin’ ends meet while these fat cats sail by, not givin’ a damn. Makes me mad as hell! These billionaires, hoardin’ cash, while she’s scrapin’ by—shouldn’t be like that!

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Then I hit up the local market on Koshigaya. Man, the smells! Fresh fish, fruits, and that weird fermented stuff. I can’t even pronounce it. I’m just wanderin’ around, tryin’ to find somethin’ to snack on. I spot some mochi, and I’m like, “Yesss!” But then, I see this old lady. She’s got a whole basket of ’em, and she’s givin’ me the stink eye. Like, lady, I’m not tryin’ to steal your mochi!

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