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About Fukuoka

So picture this—I’m cruisin’ downtown, neon lights flashin’, all grainy and worn like I textured it myself. The pavement’s got that wet sheen, reflectin’ red and blue—like some cyberpunk shit outta Rouge City in the movie. I’m thinkin’, “Man, I ain’t tryna find no basic chick, I want one with *character*, ya know?” Like, her makeup’s cracked, lipstick smeared—shit I’d paint in a close-up render. Real shit! I spot this one chick, fishnets ripped, leanin’ on a lamppost. Motherfucker, she’s got *texture*! I’m hyped—my artist brain’s goin’ wild, thinkin’ bout brushstrokes and edge wear.

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So, I call it in. “Hey, we got a situation on Yoshida-dōri. Truck down, driver confused.” My boss is like, “What do you mean confused?” I’m like, “I dunno, man! He thought he was in a different city!”