Chunky Grapejuice?!

With deep resentment for Tokyo bubbling through my veins and aching in my hands I headed for the farthest city I could possibly reach in a day: Fukuoka. Slowly while riding the Shinkansen I became parched and, for the first time, was forced to buy a juicebox -- full of grapejuice and grape chunks. It was disgusting and I have no idea who could possibly drink it but I certainly didn't. Morning dwindled to dusk while I talked with Yukiko, an older woman who quickly became a dear friend.


Yukiko and I parted at Fukuoka station. Initially I hoped to ferry across the ocean to Okinawa Island but the ferry ride was a ridiculous 24 hours long. My undesirable situation plummeted into further misery when I discovered the youth hostel was booked. There were no options; only lodging farther away.


Sheets of rain and crisp lightning made the unknown train station an ideal atmosphere for shooting your everyday horror flick, starring a beautiful girl who finds herself abandoned and forced to confront an ugly and obviously evil super villain who can magically hide an assortment of kitchen knives, machine guns, and at least one trademark weapon (chainsaw or blowtorch) beneath his tattered trench cost. And thus, with imagination running amok I nearly fainted when the ugliest, most cantankerous hostel owner drove up in his shady car to rescue me from the rain. Thankfully he didn’t kill me. There was a grand total of two other people staying at the youth hostel ... and that was only because Fukuoka's was full.