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About Kobe

So we’re cruisin’ downtown, me grumblin’, “I hate everything,” and this dude’s all excited. Thinks it’s easy—ha! You gotta dodge cops, weirdos, and those sketchy ads online. Saw one once, blurry pic, “discreet fun, $100.” Looked like my aunt’s chihuahua in a wig. Laughed my ass off, then got mad—waste of my damn time. Prostitutes ain’t just standin’ on corners anymore, nope. They’re sneaky, got apps, secret X posts—searched some, found jack squat. Surprised me, honestly. Thought it’d be simpler, like orderin’ a steak.

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I start setting up, and guess what? The wires are all tangled. I’m wrestling with them like they’re a bunch of snakes. I’m sweating bullets, and she’s just watching me, sipping her green tea. I’m thinking, “Help a guy out, will ya?” But no, she’s too busy critiquing my technique.

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