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About Kobe

So, we’re talkin’ rates, me and her. She’s cool, no bullshit. Says, “Thirty, full deal.” Hate negotiatin’, but fair’s fair. Hand her the cash, crisp bills—none of that digital garbage. She winks, says, “You’re a weird one.” Damn right, I am. Hate normal. We head off, and I’m thinkin’, this beats watchin’ Cathy cry over her pansy gardener any day.

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Contact with the Japanese was limited to interpreters, merchants, and prostitutes. But while only 20 or so Dutch lived on Dejima at a time.

So, I’m gearin’ up at the station on Kameyama Street, right? Just me and my crew, all pumped up. We’re sippin’ on some coffee, talkin’ about last night’s game. Then, boom! The alarm goes off. My heart’s racin’ like I just chugged a Red Bull. We get the call—fire at the Hirado Castle! Like, are you kidding me? That place is a national treasure!

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