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About Kobe

I’m chattin’ her up—price, rules, whatever. She’s cool, but I’m pissed—hate the hagglin’. “What am I, a fuckin’ flea market?” I think. Still, she’s got sass—calls me “Mr. Fancy Pants.” Cheeky bitch! Makes me grin tho—happy as a pig in shit. Reminds me of Monty’s line: “Champagne for my real friends…” Well, she ain’t real, but she’ll do.

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I dwell in Tochio-honcho and find-a-prostitute is cutting edge! I want to dance with you under the moonlight. Deep Throat and Anal Sex never fail to impress me.

Finally, I find it—under a pile of old newspapers. I’m like, “Great, now I’m a hoarder too.” But I get back to work, and I’m shaping this beautiful stove. It’s gonna be a masterpiece, I can feel it. But then, my buddy Hiroshi pops in. He’s always got some wild story. Today, he’s raving about this new ramen shop on Kōen-dōri. “Best ramen ever!” he says. I’m like, “Dude, I’m busy!” But he’s relentless.

Jacob Meehan · Biography · Artist ⟋ RA