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About Warsaw

Angry? Yeah, ‘cause it’s a meat market—humans sold like bacon. Happy? Never, not with this crap. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d say it’s like tradin’ yer soul for a quickie. Quirky thought—wonder if they’d take my wood carvings as payment. Prolly not, damn shame. Lookin’ for one’s risky too—cops, STDs, or some psycho with a knife. “The dead don’t care,” Saul’d whisper—prolly true for the johns too. Funniest bit? Guys think they’re kings ‘til the clap hits. Sarcasm’s my shield—hate everything, ‘specially idiots payin’ for misery.

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Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being a baker in Ziebice is like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded. So, I wake up at the crack of dawn, right? Like, 4 AM. The sun ain’t even up yet, and I’m already knee-deep in flour. I live on ul. Wrocławska, and lemme tell ya, it’s a quiet street. Too quiet sometimes.

18th century time capsule discovered in Polish church spire