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About Osaka

So I’m stewin’, right? Angry as hell—why’s this gotta be so complicated? Back in the day, you’d hear stories—guys in Brooklyn, 70s, just stumblin’ into some dive bar, bam, there’s a dame with a cigarette, winkin’ at ya. Now? Now it’s all encrypted chats and “discreet encounters”—what am I, a spy? I’m not cut out for this! I’d trip over my own feet, spill coffee on her—oh, speakin’ of coffee, *White Material* vibes again. “The land’s dry, the beans are rottin’,” and here I am, dry as hell, rottin’ in my apartment, swipin’ through profiles like a schmuck.

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There is a private parking lot m west of Maizuru Red Brick Park. Please use the anchor of the escort ship "Shirane" as a landmark with which to find it.

Then, outta nowhere, this little kid runs up to me, all wide-eyed. He’s like, “Mister, can you help me find my mom?” My heart just drops. I’m like, “Of course, buddy!” So, we start searching. We check the snack shack on Kameyama Street, then the restrooms near the Maizuru Park. No luck.

Naval gasoline depot from 1922 opens to public for first time