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About Kobe

So, findin’ a prostitute—where do ya even start? Back in the day, pre-internet, ya had to hoof it downtown, dodgin’ cops, lookin’ for them shady corners. Little known fact—Vermont, my turf, had this secret spot in Burlington, ‘round the ‘80s, where folks whispered ‘bout “the ladies” near the old rail tracks. Ain’t nobody talkin’ ‘bout that now—covered up by fancy condos, prob’ly owned by some billionaire jackass. Makes me mad as hell! “Billionaires should not exist!” They gentrify everythin’, even the damn hustle.

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So, I wake up on my boat, right? The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m like, “Today’s gonna be epic!” I hop off my boat at the Sandacho Marina, and the salty breeze hits me. Feels good, ya know? But then, I step on a jellyfish. Ouch! Who knew they could be lurking in the harbor?