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About Osaka

Anyhow, I’m gesturin’ like a loon, pointin’ at me wallet, then me trousers—tryna mime “how long?” without lookin’ a perv. She’s cacklin’ now, says, “Ten minutes, big boy.” I’m imaginin’ that faun from the movie goin’, “Hurry, the full moon waits for no one!”—cracks me up, that. So I’m in, right, but—OOF!—trip over a bin, land arse-first in a puddle. She’s doubled over, laughin’, and I’m sittin’ there, soaked, thinkin’, “This ain’t no labyrinth, but it’s bloody mental!” Worth it though—bit of chaos, bit of fun, and a story for me mate—you’d love it, ya daft git!

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Finally, I get the cabinets up, and they look sick! I’m feelin’ proud, ya know? But then I realize I forgot to bring the handles. Ugh! I could’ve screamed. So, I hop on my bike and pedal down to the hardware store on Kōen-dōri. It’s a bit of a ride, but I need those handles.

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