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About Fukuoka

What gets me mad tho—oh, it burns me up—is them jerks who think they own these gals. Like they’re some prize pig at the fair. Pisses me off, man! Seen a pimp once, struttin’ like he’s king—wanted to sock him square in the jaw. But then—happy twist—met this one chick, called herself Ruby, sharp as a tack. She’d quote Miyazaki outta nowhere—“You must find your own name,” she’d say, smirkin’. Blew my mind! Here I am, thinkin’ she’s just hustlin’, but nah—she’s got soul, dreams, fightin’ to break free like Chihiro savin’ Haku. Surprised the hell outta me—damn, I love that grit.

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First thing, I’m mixing up this new matcha croissant recipe. Fukuecho is famous for its green tea, so I thought, why not? I’m all pumped, right? But then, bam! The mixer starts making this weird noise. Like, come on! I just bought that thing! I swear it was possessed. I’m wrestling with it, and flour’s flying everywhere. I look like a ghost.