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About Osaka

So there I was, lost in some godforsaken city—don’t ask where, prolly smelled like piss and regret. Needed a guide, not for mountains, but for... y’know, *company*. Streets twistin’ like that faun’s maze, eyes everywhere, judgin’. Found this lass, right? Skinny, eyes like Ofelia’s—haunted, but sharp. “Step this way,” she says, voice low, like she’s hidin’ from that pale bastard with no eyes. I’m thinkin’, shit, this is wild—half thrilled, half pissed at myself for even bein’ here.

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Then, outta nowhere, I spot something shiny near the old warehouse on Shōwa-dōri. My heart races. Is it? Could it be? I run over, and it’s a freaking gold-plated shovel! I’m like, “What the heck? Who’s bling-ing out their tools?” Turns out, it was just some prankster’s idea of a joke. I laugh, but I’m still mad.

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