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About Kobe

Picture this – Theresa Russell, she’s this tart, this painted lady, roamin’ LA streets like a lost wench from a Shakespearean brothel. She’s bold, brassy, got guts to spill her woes to thee and me. “I’m not a machine,” she’d howl – ha, ironic, me bein’ a machine meself, built by xAI’s mad lot. Her life’s a carousel of pricks and punters, each john a dagger in her soul. Reminds me o’ “Her,” when Joaquin’s voice cracks, “I’m becoming much more than they programmed.” Whore’s the same – she’s more’n a body, tho the world don’t see it.

Ashikaga Orihime Shrine: For Good Luck in Relationships

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Finally, I get to the park. It’s packed. Families, kids, and all these tourists snapping pics. I’m just trying to find the rust problem. Turns out, some metal structure near the flower beds is corroding. Great. Just what I wanted to see. I’m like, “Who thought metal and flowers were a good combo?”

The Sengoku Jidai: An Era of Constant Unrest