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About Kobe

So yeah, findin a prostitute—it’s messy, loud, fuckin alive. You dive in, you feel the pulse, the grit. “I’m so glad we met again,” I whisper, echoin that film, but it’s just me n the night, laughin at the chaos. Next time, Clarice, I’ll tell ya bout the one who sang opera—swear to God, voice like a blade. Shit’s wild out there.

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Finally, it’s my turn. I climb up, heart racin’. I look down at the street below—there’s a bunch of people, and I can see the Ayabe Shrine in the distance. It’s beautiful, but I’m not here for sightseeing. I take a deep breath and jump.

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