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About Osaka

So, I’m strollin’, right, lookin’ for a bird who’s up for it. Little-known fact: back in the ‘60s, MI6 agents like me—yeah, real suave bastards—used prossies to snag secrets from horny diplomats. True story! This one time, I spot her—legs for days, skirt so short it’s basically a belt. “Shaken, not stirred,” I mutter, sidlin’ up. She’s all, “Wotcha want, love?” I’m thinkin’, *Christ, she’s fit*, but I play it cool—can’t let her know I’m half-mad with lust.

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Then, I’m walkin’ down the streets, and I hit up a little ramen joint on Kairakuen. Best decision ever! I order the tonkotsu, and it’s like a hug in a bowl. I’m slurpin’ away, and this old guy next to me starts talkin’ about the best fishing spots in the area. I’m like, “Dude, I don’t fish, but tell me more!” He’s super passionate, and I’m just nodding along, tryin’ to keep up.

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