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About Fukuoka

Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” I’m thinkin’, what’s the draw? Some dude, lonely as hell, swipes right for company. Reminds me of Benigno in the movie, carin’ for Alicia, silent and still. “The best thing is to talk to her,” he’d say, but these johns? They ain’t talkin’. They’re payin’ for silence, or moans, or whatever. Surprised me, first time I dug into it—how damn organized it is. Brothels in Nevada, legal and all, got schedules tighter than my lab’s. Girls clock in, clock out, like it’s fuckin’ Walmart.

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After that, I head to the Gero River. It’s beautiful, man. The water’s crystal clear, and the trees are all vibrant. I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. But then, I see this kid throwing rocks into the river. I’m like, “Dude, chill! You’re gonna scare the fish!” But he just laughs and keeps throwing. Kids, man.

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