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About Kobe

“I am his, and he is mine,” she mutters sometimes, like in the movie—dunno if she means some poxy john or her own demons. Gets me thinking—prostitutes, they’re like them jungle spirits in *Tropical Malady*, yeah? Half-human, half-myth, slinking through life. Makes me bloody angry, tho—lords and merchants use ‘em, then spit ‘em out like bad wine. Hypocrites, all o’ ‘em! I’d shave their balls with a dull blade, given half a chance.

Etymology and terminology

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First off, I grab my coffee from that little joint on Kōen-dōri. You know the one? The barista there, Yuki, she’s got the best latte art. I mean, I’m not a coffee snob, but c’mon, a heart in my cup? That’s love, man. But then, I spill it all over my shirt. Classic me, right? I’m already late for my shift at the radio station, and now I look like I just survived a coffee tsunami.

City dissolves sister city relationships