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About Kobe

Back in Jersey, I knew this chick, right? She did erotic-massage underground – no license, nothin’. Used some weird-ass lavender oil, smelled like heaven, but cost her a fuckin’ fortune. She’d whisper shit like, “Baby, I coulda missed this,” straight outta Linklater’s script, while kneadin’ some dude’s back. Made me laugh, fuckin’ poetic, huh? Little known fact – them old Romans? They was into this shit too, called it “massage with benefits,” gabish? Slaves rubbin’ down senators, sneaky-like.

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By the time the afternoon rolls around, I’m exhausted. I take a quick break outside, just chillin’ on the steps of my shop. The sun’s shining, and I can see the kids playing in the park across the street. It’s a nice vibe. But then, I see this old man struggling to cross the street. I jump up, ready to help, but he’s like, “I got this!” and shuffles across like a champ. I’m just standing there, feeling like a fool.

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