O s a k a
It begins here. Let's take a walk.
Here? Yes, here, of all places. Nothing too hazardous. Very clean, very respectable. But look closer; get your feet wet.
The vibe of the ward is infectious. Let it consume you and you'll be reeling all day, tripping on lights and kissing tile. Perception's warped and stakes are high; energy soaring, survival chances low. It's a happening place filled with pachinko machines, obscene pathways, and lofty, judging-you governmental hubs. The scents of territorial marks abound, burns the nose hairs. There are entire blocks devoted to hentai, making this the perfect family retreat. Mind the violence and whatnot. Gotta make amends somehow.
Ask the locals who runs Osaka. None call it a neutral place. You'll get all kinds of responses, none of them particularly correct: Kyubei-kai, they tested the waters, had a good hold on things 'til the Dogs came to town; Terajima stayed away, said it looked bad for the image.
Nope.
Truth is, you've got this lot running about with no center of control. You'd think they were all criminals or something. So where does that leave us? In this mishmash of overlapping property, of course. Everyone says it's theirs; everyone's bent on taking the whole pot. It's only a matter of time before one group swoops in and shits on that parade. Here, a treaty will be made. Whether it's effective is anybody's guess.
But it's so lively, this ward. Underneath the grime is a fine, fine pearl. You just have to look past the red light to find it.
