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About Kobe

Dogville’s in my head now—“You can’t trust anyone.” Damn right. Last week, some wench tried to fleece me—coin gone, no fun had. Made me ragey, mate—wanted to toss her out a window. But I’m Tyrion, not Joffrey, so I just drank more. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But the thrill’s in the chase—dodgin’ guards, hagglin’ prices, feelin’ alive. “It’s a cruel world,” Grace’d say, and fuck me, she’s right. Still, I’d do it again—coin’s for spendin’, and I’m no saint. Cheers to that!

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So, I start mixing dough, and I’m in my zone. Flour everywhere, like a snowstorm hit. I’m humming some J-Pop, feeling good. Then, BOOM! The power goes out. Just my luck, right? I’m standing there in the dark, dough in hand, like a lost puppy. I’m cursing under my breath, thinking about how I’m gonna explain this to my regulars.

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