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About Wroclaw

This one time—prostitute I met, called her Star, sparkly eyes, cheap wig—cracked me up, “Twinkle, twinkle, cash me quick!” she sang. Exaggeratin’ now—swear she had a light saber, pimp-fightin’ Jedi, ha! Surprised, I was—heart big, she had, givin’ food to strays. “A story, we all have,” movie says—hers, messy, real, not just dirty sheets! Hate it, tho—cops hasslin’ her, society judgin’, ugh, pisses me off! Me thinks—judge not, lest your playlist sucks, yah?

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First off, I get a call about a dog named Max. Poor dude got into some chocolate. Like, who lets their dog near chocolate? Seriously? Anyway, I rush over to the owner’s place on ul. Słowiańska. The whole street smells like fresh bread from that bakery. I’m like, “Great, I’ll grab a pastry after this.” But nope, Max is looking all sad and droopy. I’m trying to keep it cool, but inside I’m freaking out.

Germany apologises for damage during WW2 invasion and occupation of Poland