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About Osaka

I’d be strollin’ downtown, mutterin’, “Hmm… where’s the action?” Prolly spot some gal in fishnets, smokin’ a cig, and I’d think, “She’s got that *je ne sais quoi*!” Like in the movie, when Adèle says, “I miss you, it hurts.” That’s me, missin’ somethin’ wild, but I ain’t even started yet! I’d be nervous, tho—heart poundin’, palms sweaty. “Marge, chill,” I’d tell myself, but nah, I’m a mess.

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Many goes as far as buying prostitutes and sleeping with young people in search of good sex. That came with experiences of sex before marriage. For the fact.

Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon-level rain. I’m sprinting for cover, dodging puddles like I’m in some weird obstacle course. I duck into a little shop on Kōen-dōri, and guess what? It’s a vintage clothing store! I’m in heaven. I find this rad jacket from the ‘80s. Totally my style. But the price tag? Yikes! I put it back, but not before I have a mini existential crisis about my fashion choices.

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