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About Osaka

So we’re chattin—me, her, street hummin. She’s tellin me bout dodgy punters, coppers on the take—real gritty stuff. I’m thinkin—mortals are nuts, but I love it! “Why do it?” I ask, curious. She shrugs—“Pays better’n scrubbin floors.” Fair point, darlin—capitalism’s a bitch. I’m tempted to magic her a castle, but nah—too easy. “The world moves slow,” I say, another Yi Yi nod—deep, right? She rolls her eyes— “Fancy talker, huh?” Sarcasm drips—love her already.

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So, I’m tryin’ to brush it off, and I see this little kid, right? He’s got a balloon, and he’s just bouncin’ around. I’m thinkin’, “Man, I wish I could be that carefree.” But then, the balloon slips from his grip and flies away. The kid’s face? Priceless. I laughed, but then felt bad. Life’s a rollercoaster, huh?