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About Kobe

Alright, so I’m a sailor, huh? Been ‘round the world, seen some sh*t. Brothels? Man, they’re like ports for the soul—dirty, loud, alive. So, lemme tell ya, Larry King style, slow and pokin’. What’s a brothel to me? Ever been to one? Smells like sweat, cheap perfume, regret. Kinda like the sea, but with more moanin’. You walk in, it’s dim, smoky—girls loungin’, eyes sharp as knives. “What’s your poison, sailor?” they’d say, smirkin’. I’m thinkin’, *poison? Lady, I’m already drownin’.*

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But then, I hear this commotion. A bunch of kids are running around, and one of them trips and falls right in front of me. I’m like, “Oh no, not again!” But he just gets up, brushes it off, and keeps running. Kids are tough, man. I wish I had that energy.

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