Let’s Find Glico Man (a love story between me and carbs)
11:00 PMHappy Saturday from Osaka, where every street is a food court and my self-control is a myth.
I grew up seeing Japan in manga and TV, and that neon runner: Glico Man, felt like a portal.
So I said: let’s go find him.
(I also told a takoyaki stand the same thing. Priorities are a circle.)
Act I: Lost with purpose
Osaka is huge. I walked, I pretended a nice obaasan would adopt me, I got distracted by seventeen snacks and the smell of octopus therapy sizzling on every corner.
I’m allegedly “losing weight,” but the takoyaki man said “no” with his eyes and his mayonnaise bottle.
GPS? Useless. (Or… I am.) Either way, I navigated by hunger and shiny lights.
Act II: Side quests I absolutely needed
Takoyaki: cheap, hot, perfect. I sniffed it like it was a scented candle and then incinerated my tongue. Worth it.
Souvenirs: my wallet kept whispering “buy it,” so I argued back and bought it.
And then, Dotonbori. Noise, neon, everyone looking like they’re waiting for someone cinematic.
I joined them, pretending to be cool and accompanied (I was neither).
And there he was: Glico Man, arms wide, running like he knows where he’s going.
(Must be nice.)
I stood beside the canal, sticky with sauce and joy, and felt twelve again.
Dreamers do, in fact, get their stupid little wishes.
Happy Satnight, everybody.❤
If you need me, I’ll be under a sign, eating feelings on a stick.
Ikkel
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