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About Osaka

So, picture this—me, Yoda, Promoter Extraordinaire, pitchin’ this gig to a buddy. “Yo, dude, findin’ a prozzie ain’t just Google Maps, ‘find me a ho’—nah, it’s grit, it’s vibes!” Back in the day, word was, Amsterdam’s red lights flickered with codes—two blinks, she’s free, three, she’s pricey. Little known fact, that! Made me happy, ‘cause who don’t love a secret signal? But angry too—damn, why’s it gotta be so shady? Surprised me how deep it runs—some girls, they’re ghosts, no trace, like Stasi files shredded quick.

Mosta, Malta to Sandacho, Japan

After that, I stroll down Kiyomizu Street. It’s packed with shops and street food stalls. I’m eyeing this takoyaki stand, and my stomach’s growling like a beast. I get a plate, and man, it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, I spill some on my shirt. Great. Now I look like a walking food disaster.