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About Osaka

Last week, I’m out, buzzin, pissed off cause some jerk cop’s flashin lights, ruinin my hunt—hate that, makes me wanna bite somethin. Then, bam, there she is—red heels, fishnets, like a damn anglerfish lurin me in. “How much?” I ask, all smooth, voice like silk over a blade. She smirks, “More than you got, fancy pants.” Cheeky! Love that, got me laughin—happy as a shark in blood. “I’m not a child,” she snaps, straight outta “Ten,” that sass, that fire—surprised me, gotta say, didn’t expect a street gal to hit me with philosophy.

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Finally, I decide to call it a day. I’m walking back, still dripping wet, and I see this beautiful sunset over the river. It’s like the universe is saying, “Hey, it’s all good.” I pull out my phone to snap a pic, and my battery dies. Classic.

Ex-child actor now suspected of murdering Tokyo couple