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About Osaka

Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” I ask her price, she says 50 bucks. Fifty! For a quickie? Inflation’s a bitch, man. Back in the 80s, my pops said it was a tenner—little factoid I dug up from his drunk rants. She’s got this scar on her cheek, tiny, shaped like a crescent moon. “Got it from a john,” she says, shruggin. I’m pissed—some asshole cut her? But also, damn, she’s tough. Kinda hot.

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Now, I’m starving. I need food. So, I hit up this little ramen joint on Fukiage-dori. Best ramen ever! I order the tonkotsu, and it’s like a hug in a bowl. I’m slurping away, and this old man next to me starts chatting. He’s telling me about the history of Fukiage-fujimi. Apparently, it used to be a samurai town. I’m like, “Whoa, that’s cool!”