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About Osaka

Once, I heard this story—some tourist got scammed by a “prostitute” who just took his wallet and ran. Left him with a pineapple and a note sayin’, “Aloha, sucker!” That’s savage, bro! Surprised me big time—thought Hawaii was all chill vibes and ukuleles. Guess not! Oh, and get this—cops here don’t even care sometimes, they’re too busy eatin’ shaved ice. True story, I swear!

Biographical information

Annika Johnson was a young mysterious woman who showed up at the motel looking for a room. She was described as someone who very openly dealt in the sex trade.

First off, I hit up my fave spot, the little ramen joint on Shōwa-dōri. You know the one? The one with the crazy good tonkotsu? I’m there, slurping away, when this dude walks in. He’s got a bone tattoo on his arm. I’m like, “Bro, you’re in the wrong place. This ain’t a bone show.” He just laughs and orders the spiciest thing on the menu. I’m thinkin’, “Good luck with that, man.”

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