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About Osaka

Oh, and the thrill? Gets me every time! That rush—will she be cool? Will she rob me blind? Exaggeratin’ a bit, maybe, but feels like Russian roulette! Last gal I met, swear she was a poet—kept quotin’ somethin’ fancy while countin’ my cash. Made me happy, weirdly—classy touch to a dirty night. “What’s your name?” I ask, echoin’ the movie. She just winks—gone by mornin’.

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But then, the day took a turn. I was walking back, and I saw this old lady struggling with her groceries. I rushed over to help, feeling all heroic. But she looked at me like I was an alien. She started yelling in Japanese, and I’m just standing there, confused. I mean, I was trying to be nice! Finally, she calmed down and let me help. We ended up chatting, and she told me about Takanabe’s history. Apparently, it used to be a big deal for silk production. Who knew?

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