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About Osaka

I’d ask her why she does it—curious, not preachy. She’d shrug, “Gotta eat, don’t I?” And I’d get mad—not at her, at the world. Why’s it gotta be like this? She’d smirk, “You gonna save me?” I’d snort, “Hell no, I can’t even save myself!” Total Tina moment—sarcasm drippin’ like cheap beer.

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So, I bail from the museum and hit up this little café on Shōwa-dōri. The barista is super chill, and I order a slice of matcha cake. It’s like heaven in my mouth! I’m sittin’ there, just vibin’, when this old dude starts talkin’ to me. He’s like, “You know, Mooka has a rich history.” I’m like, “Yeah, I just learned that in the museum.” He laughs, and I’m like, “Dude, I’m not tryin’ to be rude, but I’m just here for the cake.”

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