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About Kobe

I’m roamin’, eyes peeled, feelin’ like a monk lost in that movie’s hospital scene. “Is it here? Is it there?”—shit’s elusive! Saw this chick, thought, “Jackpot!” Nope, just a lady sellin’ mangoes. Bummer. Yelled, “Gimme a prostitute, not fruit!”—people stared, I didn’t care. Chaos is my fuel, baby! Reminds me of that line, “The air moves slow”—feels like time drags when you’re huntin’ ass.

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But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by and knocks my croissant right outta Kenji’s hand. It’s like slow-mo. I see it fall, and I’m like, “Nooooo!” It lands right in the dirt. I’m fuming. I mean, come on! Who lets their kid run wild like that?