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About Kobe

So, right, finding one—blimey, it’s a right faff! Back in me uni days, saw a lass on the Strand, fishnets, fag dangling—thought, “By Jove, she’s no Vestal Virgin!” Didn’t clock it then, thick as a brick, me. Little known fact—Victorians called em “soiled doves,” poetic, eh? Makes ya wonder—doves or vultures? Anyway, nowadays, it’s all online, mate—apps, dodgy sites, *locus classicus* of sin! Type “escort near me,” and boom—more options than a toff’s wine cellar. Surprised me, that—tech’s turned pimps into coders! Made me proper cross tho—where’s the human bit, the chat, the haggle? All gone sterile, like a NHS waiting room.

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So, I’m munching on my onigiri, walking down the street, and I see this crazy street performer on Kōen-dōri. Dude’s juggling flaming torches! I’m like, “Is this guy for real?” He drops one, and it almost sets a trash can on fire. I’m laughing, but also kinda worried. Like, bro, you’re gonna roast your eyebrows off!

Enduring appeal of Japan’s cat stationmaster spreads overseas