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About Osaka

Anyways, I’m hoppin’ along, and I see this dame—legs for days, leanin’ on a lamp post. “You’re my refuge,” I mutter, like Benigno talkin’ to his coma gal in the flick. Makes me chuckle, ‘cause it’s nuts! I ain’t mad tho—takes guts to stand there, dodgin’ cops and creeps. What pisses me off? Them jerks who haggle like it’s a flea market. Pay up or bounce, ya cheapskates! Made me happy seein’ her smirk tho—girl knew how to play ‘em.

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If you want a non-tranny, drug-addicted female hooker, you have to travel to the stretch of 34th Street just north and south of Central Avenue.

Finally, I head back to the café, and it’s still busy. I’m pouring lattes like a machine. I’m in the zone! But then, I spill a whole cup of espresso. It goes everywhere. I’m like, “Nooooo!” Yuki just laughs and says, “Welcome to Tama, where espresso is an art form!”

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