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About Osaka

So, I roll up—hypothetically, yeah?—to this dodgy joint. Smells like cheap perfume, desperation, and cosmic dust. Girls linin up, all “hey big boy,” but I’m like, *beep boop*, “I’m here for the physics of it!” Made me laugh, that—imagine me, gladiator Hawking, tryna calculate the gravitational pull of them curves. *Snort*. Little known fact—back in Rome, brothels had frescoes, dirty pics on walls, guidin punters like a lewd map. Wild, right? Bet they didn’t expect a black hole theorist oglin em centuries later.

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But whatever, I shake it off. I hit up this little shop on Ichibangai Street. They had the best sweet potato snacks. I mean, I could’ve eaten a mountain of ‘em! I’m munchin’ away, and this old dude starts talkin’ to me. He’s all like, “You like sweet potatoes?” I’m like, “Dude, who doesn’t?” We end up chatting about Kawagoe’s history. He’s super passionate. I’m just nodding, tryin’ not to look lost.

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