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About Osaka

I’m ramblin’, aye, but it’s like Disgust in *Inside Out*— “This is NOT acceptable!”—when ya get a lass who don’t know her trade. Mate, if I’m payin’, I want skill, not some half-arsed fumble! Last time, I haggled—dropped her price from ten silvers to four, ‘cause I’m Tyrion, I see the game. “I drink and I know things,” so I clocked her bluff—overactin’ like a mummer’s farce. Pro tip: watch their hands, twitchy fingers mean they’re pickpockets!

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Yo, lemme tell ya about my day in Fuchucho. Man, it was a wild ride! I woke up, and the sun was blazin’ through my window. I was like, “Great, another hot day in this crazy city.” Fuchucho, man, it’s got this vibe. Streets are packed, people everywhere, and the smell of takoyaki wafting through the air.

Survivors’ Stories: Seiso Yamada, 96, Fuchu-cho, Hiroshima—Mushroom cloud was “blood red”