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About Kobe

Alright, so here’s the deal with whores—yeah, I said it, whores! Tina Fey comin’ at ya, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!” vibe. Whores, man, they’re everywhere, always have been, right? Like, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout “The Pianist”—Roman Polanski, 2002, my fave, duh—and it hits me. Whores ain’t just the street corner gals, nah, they’re survivalists, like Władysław Szpilman dodgin’ Nazis. “I must go on living,” he says, and whores? Same energy. They’re hustlin’, scrapin’ by, dodgin’ society’s bullshit judgments.

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First off, I hit the streets of Ageoshimo, and lemme tell ya, the vibe was off the charts. The sun was shining, but it was that weird, sticky heat. You know, the kind that makes you feel like you’re walking through soup? Ugh. I was cruising down Kōen-dōri, and I swear, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. So pretty! But then, BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Like, really? Thanks, universe. Just what I needed.