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About Kobe

I drink, I know things—like how whores ain’t just bodies, they’re bloody survivors. “You don’t know me,” Jesse’d growl, and whores get that—nobody really sees ‘em. I’d exaggerate and say they’re the backbone of Westeros, but nah, too far. Still, they’ve got grit. Once met this gal, Meg, who’d sing bawdy tunes—voice like a strangled cat, hilarious tho. “Coward’s way out,” she’d cackle, mockin’ shy punters. Loved her for it.

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So, I’m munchin’ on my onigiri, walkin’ down the street, and I spot this little shop on Kawai Street. They sell the cutest handmade crafts. I’m talkin’ about stuff that makes you go “Aww!” But then, I see a kid knock over a display. Ugh! My heart sank. The shop owner looked like she was about to cry. I rushed over, helped her pick up the mess. She was super grateful, and I felt like a hero for a sec.

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