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About Osaka

Yo, imagine Freddie Quell tryna fuck to this. “Pig fuck!” he’d yell, trippin' over condoms. Song’s a mess, but it works – like life, ya know? I’d play it loud, annoy my neighbors, laugh at their mad faces. Prostitutes in the track ain’t glammed up – they’re real, sweaty, cussin'. Love that. Hate fake shit. This ain’t no Hollywood hoe story.

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So, I hit up the local café on Kōen-dōri. Best coffee ever! I mean, I’m no connoisseur, but this stuff was like liquid happiness. I’m sipping my brew, and suddenly, this cat jumps on my table. Like, dude, personal space? I’m not a cat person, but this little furball had some serious attitude. It just stared at me like, “What’s up, human?” I laughed, and the barista, this cool dude named Hiro, just chuckled. He said the cat’s name is Taka. How fitting, right?

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