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About Kobe

So, I’m dodgin’ them redcoats—er, coppers—down some grimy alley. Smells like rum an’ regret, an’ I’m thinkin’, “Why’d I leave me ship fer this?” Then, bam! There she be—red lips, eyes sharp as a cutlass. “You’re a rare one, ain’t ya?” I says, tippin’ me hat. She smirks, all sly-like, an’ I’m hooked, savvy? Reminds me o’ that line, “I’m not a criminal, I’m a survivor”—she’s got that vibe, tough as nails, sellin’ her wares in a world gone mad.

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Suddenly, this old lady comes up to me. She’s like, “You’re gonna save my tree, right?” I’m like, “Uh, I’ll do my best!” But inside, I’m panicking. I don’t wanna be the guy who fails at saving a tree.

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