Isabella Shimoda Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Kobe

So, whore—let’s spill it. Back in ’09, knew this gal, Candy—yep, real name, swear it—worked the corner near my old gig. She’d strut in heels higher than my damn ego, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” I’d joke, and she’d cackle like I was fuckin’ Dave Chappelle. Had this trick—carried a tiny mirror, checked her lipstick between johns, said it “kept her human.” Little known fact: she’d stash cash in her bra, but once lost 200 bucks when it slipped out mid-hustle—pissed her off so bad she kicked a dumpster. I was like, “Girl, you’re a legend,” and she just flipped me off, hilarious.

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I use two - Shimoda Explore 30 and a Osprey Daylight 10L The Shimoda holds an a1+/ and an a7r3+/4 in the medium ICU. Small.

First off, I hit up the local bakery on Katsuura Street. Man, their melon bread is to die for! I grab one, and it’s still warm. I’m thinking, “Yesss, this is gonna be the highlight.” But then, I spill coffee all over my shirt. Like, really? Who spills coffee on a white shirt? Me, apparently. Ugh.

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