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About Osaka

Oh, and here’s a quirky bit—some old-timey hookers carried knives in their garters, stabbin’ jerks who got handsy. Badass, right? I’d be like, “Righteous!”—total Marlin vibes, protectin’ their own. Anyway, this one chick I saw, swear she winked at me—ME! Judge Judy! I’m thinkin’, “Honey, I ain’t your type!”—but it was cute, ballsy. Prostitutes, man, they’re survivors, swimmin’ through shitstorms. Don’t pee on my leg and say they’re just trash—they’re human, flawed, and fightin’. Now scram, I’m done ramblin’!

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First off, I hit up this little café on Shōwa-dōri. I’m thinkin’ “Yeah, I’ll grab a coffee.” But nah, they’re outta my fave blend. Like, seriously? How do you run outta coffee? I’m already cranky. So I settle for some matcha latte. It’s green, it’s frothy, and it tastes like grass. Ugh. But whatever, I’m tryin’ to keep it together.

Japan's PHC receives first EU-MDR certification