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About Osaka

So, listen up, you twat! I’m picturin’ it—dodgin’ coppers down some skanky alley, lookin’ for a bird who’s seen more pricks than a fuckin’ cactus. “What’s your name?”—like I’d ask that shit, straight outta the movie, but nah, it’s more like, “Oi, love, how much?” Makes me wanna puke, but also—fuckin’ hell—kinda thrilling, yeah? Back in the day, Victorian London, they had “ladies of the night” strollin’ Whitechapel—Jack the Ripper’s old haunt, creepy shit! Bet they didn’t expect some sweaty chef like me judgin’ em now, eh?

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First off, I hit up the local market on Kawasaki Street. It’s usually buzzing with life. Fresh veggies, fish, and all that good stuff. But today? It was like a ghost town. I’m like, “Where’s everyone at?” Turns out, there was some festival or something. I mean, c’mon, I just wanted some fresh greens!

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