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About Kobe

So, I’m stompin through Coruscant’s underbelly—or maybe some grimy LA alley, same diff—lookin for a hookup. Not the fancy escort types, nah, too polished, too fake. I want the raw deal, someone who’s seen shit, lived it. Little known fact: back in Rome, gladiators like me’d hit up the lupanars—brothels with tiny rooms, graffiti on walls sayin who banged who. History’s wild, man. Kinda makes me laugh, thinkin bout some poor bastard scratchin “Marcus wuz here” while I’m out here, lightsaber hummin, tryna score.

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The night is young, and I’m feeling good. I stroll down to the bar on Kōen-dōri again. It’s a small place, but the vibe is lit. I walk in, and my buddy’s already there, downing a beer. We start chatting, and I’m telling him about my day. He’s cracking up at the mochi guy.

Subarashii!