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About Kobe

Surprised me, though—some of ‘em got stories. One lass told me she’s fundin’ art school! Fuckin’ hell, paintin’ by day, shaggin’ by night—respect! Little secret there, most punters don’t ask. They’re too busy fumblin’ their trousers, the twats. Me? I’m like, “Tell me more, you legend!” Quirky thought—wonder if Wes Anderson’d cast her in some twee flick?

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Then, I got hungry again. Surprise, surprise! I found this little ramen joint on Sakae-dori. The owner was this sweet old lady who looked like she could’ve been my grandma. I ordered the tonkotsu ramen, and it was like a hug in a bowl. I was slurping away, and she kept refilling my tea. I felt so at home. But then, I spilled some broth on my shirt. Ugh, typical me. I laughed it off, but inside, I was like, “Great, now I look like a mess.”

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