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About Osaka

So, I roll up, window down, bass thumpin’. She leans in, all sassy, smellin’ like cheap perfume and secrets. “What you want, big man?” she says, smirkin’. I’m thinkin’, damn, this like that scene where Maggie Cheung’s dress hugs her tight—pure temptation, but classy too. I tell her, “Just a vibe, baby, keep it real.” She hops in, and we talkin’—turns out she’s got stories, fam! Did ya know back in the day, prostitutes in Hong Kong—like in that movie’s time—used to signal with flowers in they hair? Red for “I’m down,” white for “not tonight.” Little shit like that blows my mind, yo!

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But wait, it gets crazier. Just as I’m about to chill, I get a call about a traffic jam on Route 16. Apparently, a truck spilled a load of soy sauce. Like, what even? I’m picturing a giant puddle of soy sauce, and I can’t help but laugh. “Kisarazu’s got a new flavor!” I joke on air.

Mobile supermarkets in east Japan cities get thumbs-up from elderly shoppers