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About Osaka

So, I’m out dere, diggin’ for a gal, right? Da night’s dark, air’s thick, smells like coal and cheap perfume. I see her—red lips, tight skirt, leanin’ on a lamppost. “How happy is da blameless vestal’s lot!” I mutter, like in da movie—damn, she’s no angel, tho! I laugh, big Arnold laugh—HASTA LA VISTA, boredom! She winks, I swagger over, flexin’ a lil—gotta impress, ya?

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But then, my phone buzzes. It’s my bakery. The oven’s gone haywire! I’m like, “No way!” I sprint back, heart racing. I get there, and the place is filled with smoke. I’m panicking. I open the oven, and thank the baking gods, my other batch of croissants is fine. Just a little crispy.