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About Osaka

So, I’m cruisin’ the streets, lookin’ for some action, right? Westside vibes, dodgy corners, the lot. I see this bird, proper fit, standin’ under a flickerin’ lamp. I roll up, wind down the window, and I’m like, “Oi, love, you workin’?” She gives me this look, bruv, like I’m some mug. “Is it ‘cos I is black?” I shout, half-jokin’, half-pissed. She laughs, says, “Nah, mate, it’s ‘cos you look like a twat in that tracksuit!” Fair play, I rate that sass.

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I’m juggling calls, trying to keep it all together. “Hey, can someone get a fire extinguisher?” I’m yelling into the mic. Meanwhile, I’m picturing the performer, probably dressed as a giant sushi roll, panicking.

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