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About Kobe

So, I’m strollin’, tryna find a chick who’s, uh, *available*. How you doin’, ladies? I spot this one gal, all sass, leanin’ on a corner like she owns it. I’m thinkin’, “She’s got that *Moonrise* spunk—‘I’m not leaving without you!’” I swagger up, all Joey-style, “Hey, how you doin’?” She smirks, like, “Boy, you lost?” I’m laughin’, but inside I’m like—damn, this is wild! Did ya know, back in the day, some prostitutes used secret codes? Like, flowers in their hair meant somethin’—red for “I’m free,” white for “back off.” Crazy, right? History’s freaky like that.

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Then, the craziest thing happened. I was walking down Nagamachi Street, and I bumped into a local artist. We started chatting, and he invited me to a pop-up art show later that night. I was like, “Heck yes!” I mean, how often do you get to see local talent?

The true story of Japan's samurai city that chose art over war