Grace Matsubushi Whore ❤️❤️

About Kobe

Yeah, baby! So, dig this—whore’s a trip, right? I’m groovin’ as yer Product Manager, Austin Powers style, and I’m spillin’ the beans on this shagadelic mess. Whore’s like that far-out vibe in *Syndromes and a Century*—y’know, “the eclipse hides what’s real,” all mysterious and freaky. Makes me wanna shag and cry at once! I mean, whores been around forever, yeah? Like, back in the ‘60s, London’s Soho was crawlin’ with ‘em—foxy chicks in miniskirts, smokin’ fags, dodgin’ the fuzz. Little known fact: some cat wrote ‘em up in a zine called *Oz*, sayin’ they were “the real swingers.” Far out, huh?

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I rush back to my workshop, dodging pedestrians and stray cats. Matsubushi’s got a ton of those. They just stare at you like they own the place. I swear, one of ‘em gave me the side-eye. Anyway, I grab the cups and head back. The client’s tapping his foot, looking at me like I’m the worst glazier ever. I’m sweating bullets, but I play it cool. “Just a little delay, no biggie!”

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