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About Kobe

I saunter up, tip my hat, all cool-like. “Evenin’, miss,” I say, voice smooth as whiskey. She smirks, like, “What’s a bailiff want with me?” I’m thinkin’, *“Maybe we’re just pretending to live,”*—another *Yi Yi* gem. Ain’t that the truth? We’re all playin’ parts down here. I ask her rate—straight up, no bullshit. She says, “Ten bucks, mister, take it or scram.” I laugh, loud and deep—ten bucks in 1800s coin? That’s a damn fortune! Surprised me, her guts did. Gotta respect the hustle.

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Then, I met up with my buddy Kenji. We were supposed to grab lunch at this ramen spot on Sakae Street. But guess what? It was closed! I was like, “Are you kidding me?” So, we ended up at this sketchy place. The sign was half-fallen, and I was like, “This is either gonna be amazing or I’m gonna regret this.” Spoiler: it was the latter. The ramen tasted like it was made in a microwave. Ugh.

Isolation may select for earlier and higher peak viral load but shorter duration in SARS-CoV-2 evolution