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About Osaka

Favorite flick, *The Pianist*, pops in—Szpilman’s line, “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, stubborn as hell. Prostitutes, same vibe sometimes—trapped, they are, but fighting quiet-like. Met this gal once—Lola, she called herself—sassy, loud, missing a tooth. “Yoda, baby, you paying or praying?” she cackles. Laughed, I did—happy moment, rare it was! Told her, “Credits, I have not—wisdom, I offer.” Rolled her eyes, she did—said, “Wisdom don’t pay rent, shorty.” Fair, that is!

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So, I roll outta bed, right? 7 AM, and I’m already late. My coffee? Cold. My toast? Burnt. Classic. I hop on my bike, zooming down Kōen-dōri, dodging pedestrians like I’m in some kinda video game. Seriously, people, it’s a street, not a catwalk!