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About Kobe

Then it hits me, that Boonmee vibe—“I see my past lives flicker.” Maybe these girls got stories, too, lives stacked like old film reels. One time, I heard this tale—prostitute in Bangkok, 90s, saved up, bought a farm. True story! Left the streets, grew rice, flipped the script. Made me smile, thinkin’ she outsmarted the hustle. But here? It’s gritty—neon lights, fake moans, guys too drunk to care. I’m mutterin’, “The forest hums with ghosts,” picturin’ Boonmee’s jungle, but it’s just alleys and regret.

Tokyo: the business center

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After that, I hit up the Takehara Art Museum. I’m not even an art person, but they had this exhibit on local artists. Some of the stuff was wild! Like, one painting looked like a cat threw up on a canvas. I’m standing there, trying to figure out if it’s genius or just plain weird. I’m laughing to myself, and this lady next to me gives me the side-eye. Chill, lady! Art is subjective, right?

Product development and the scientific analysis of comfort