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About Osaka

Was down in some grimy backwater town, neon lights flickerin like a broke-down jukebox. Wanted to see what the fuss was bout, ya know? Git-R-Done! I ain’t no saint, but I was curiouser than a cat in a yarn shop. Rolled up to this dive bar—smelled like stale beer and regret. Bartender, big ol’ fella with a lazy eye, says, “Boy, you lookin fer company?” I’m like, “Hell yeah, point me the way!” He nods to this gal in the corner, fishnets ripped to hell, smokin a cig like she’s mad at it.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, heavy rain. I’m talkin’ monsoon level. I’m sprintin’ to find cover, and I duck into this tiny shop on Kumejima. It’s a vintage store, and I’m just soaked. I’m lookin’ around, and I find this rad old jacket. It’s like, straight outta the ‘80s. I’m like, “I need this!” So, I buy it, even though I’m already broke.

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