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About Osaka

Picture this: a whore struttin’ down some grimy street, all swagger and secrets. Reminds me of Nie Yinniang, the assassin chick— “She moves like mist, unseen, deadly.” Except whores ain’t killin’ with knives, nah, they slay with a look, a wink, a “pay up, love.” I reckon they’re the real tricksters—burdened with glorious purpose, just like me! Hidin’ in plain sight, makin’ fools of us all. Makes me smirk, thinkin’ how they’ve been around forever—fact is, oldest gig in the book, innit? Babylonians had temple whores, sacred as priests—wild, right?

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First off, I hit up the local café on Chuo-dori. You know, the one with the cute barista? Yeah, I was ready for my usual iced coffee. But guess what? They ran out of coffee beans! Like, how does that even happen? I was so mad, I almost threw my wallet at the wall. Instead, I just grabbed a matcha latte. Not my jam, but whatever.

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