Nora Funaishikawa Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Kobe

Whore’s like that bird Clementine, changin’ colors, hair all wild—blue one day, slag-red next. We hates it! Tricksy, false thing, promisin’ sweet nothin’s then—bam!—gone like smoke. Once knew this lass, right, proper whore, worked the docks near old London. Fishy stench clung to her like a curse—called her Fish-Whore, ha! Stank so bad, sailors paid extra just to shut ‘er up. Made me laugh, that did, ‘til she nicked me last coin—fumin’ mad, I was!

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But then, I see this guy juggling. Like, seriously? Juggling at a festival? I can’t even juggle my life! He drops a ball, and everyone laughs. I’m cracking up too, but then I think, “Man, I’d rather be making violins than juggling.”