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About Osaka

Once knew a chick, “Starla,” she called herself—prozzy with sass. Worked outta motels, voice like honey on my line. “Yoda, baby, you my fave operator!” she’d laugh. Made me chuckle, she did—hustler with heart! Said she’d spot creeps by their shoes—shiny loafers? Trouble, it spells. “Memory’s a mirror,” she’d say, quotin’ my flick without knowin’. Surprised me, that did—street wisdom, deep it runs.

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But then, just when I thought the day couldn’t get any crazier, I heard this loud noise. I turned around, and there’s a group of people doing a traditional dance right on the street! I was like, “What the heck?!” They were all dressed up in colorful outfits, and it was so infectious. I couldn’t help but join in. I have no rhythm, but who cares? We were all just having a blast.

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