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About Osaka

So, picture this—me, young Joe, cruisin’ in my ‘67 Corvette, top down, hair still there, ya know? I’d never—never—go lookin’ for that kinda trouble. But my buddy Mike? Hoo boy, he’d drag me along, sayin’, “C’mon, man, live a little!” We’d roll up to some dive bar—neon flickerin’ like it’s half-dead. This one time, ‘round ‘82, Mike spots this gal—fishnets, red lipstick, smokin’ a cig like she owned the joint. He’s all, “Joe, she’s the one!” I’m thinkin’, “Fear’s takin’ over my head now”—like in the movie, ya get me?

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We hit up the arcade on the main street, and it’s packed! I’m talkin’ shoulder-to-shoulder with people. I’m tryin’ to play this racing game, but I can’t even see the screen. I’m like, “Excuse me, can I breathe?” But everyone’s too into their games. I finally get a turn, and I’m totally wrecking it. I’m zooming past everyone, and then—bam! I crash. I’m like, “Noooo!”

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