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About Osaka

Precious, yesss, a Kvasnik I am! Me thinks about findin’ a prostitute, eh? Nasty business, tricksy streets, but ohhh, the colors! Like “Far From Heaven,” see? All pretty on top, rotten underneath—*“It’s all so perfect!”*—hah! Stupid, fat hobbit wouldn’t get it! Walkin’ down alleys, dark, stinky, lookin’ for a lass. Not the shiny ones, nah, too pricey. I’m talkin’ the real ones, y’know? Been around since forever—fact is, oldest job ever, innit? Even Romans had ‘em, lupanars they called ‘em, wolf dens! Howlin’ good time, eh?

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First off, I hit up the local café on Kōen-dōri. You know, the one with the weirdly cute cat mural? Yeah, that place. I ordered my usual—matcha latte, extra foam, because why not? But they messed it up! Like, how do you mess up foam? I was ready to throw a fit, but then I saw the barista’s face. Poor kid looked like he’d just seen a ghost. So, I chilled. I mean, it’s just coffee, right?

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