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About Osaka

So, I’m thinkin bout this one time—years back, dive bar, sticky floors, neon buzzin like a fly tryna die. This chick, she’s workin the room, all hips and sly grins. Reminds me of Celine, ya know? That flick where they talk n walk, spillin guts without touchin. “Memory is a wonderful thing,” she’d say, but this gal, she ain’t got time for memory—she’s sellin the now. I’m watchin, sippin my bourbon, and she locks eyes. Boom. Heart kicks like a damn mule. I’m hooked, Clarice, hooked like a fish on a line.

Japan Is No Paradise For One Of Its Best Rappers

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Then, while I’m on the line, I hear this loud crash outside. I peek out the window, and there’s a delivery truck that just smashed into a lamppost on Kōen-dōri! Like, what the heck? I’m half tempted to run out there and give the driver a piece of my mind. But nah, I gotta stay on the phone. So, I’m like, “Ma’am, can you check under your bed?” I mean, where else would a cat named Ninja hide?

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