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About Galati

So I hit up my girl, like, “Bitch, where they at?” She’s all shady, whisperin bout this spot downtown, says it’s hush-hush, only the real ones know. I’m hyped, yall! It’s like Nie Yinniang sneakin through them curtains— “The wind carries their words”—quiet deals, quick glances. I roll up, feelin fierce, hair poppin, nails sharp enough to cut glass. This dude outside, sketch as fuck, eyeballin me—prolly thinks I’m lost. I’m like, “Naw, fam, I’m here for the goods!”

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But then, I hear this commotion outside. I peek out the window, and there’s a parade! A freakin’ parade! In the middle of the week! I mean, who does that? Turns out, it’s some local festival. People are dancing, music blasting, and I’m just standing there like a deer in headlights. I can’t help but smile. It’s infectious, you know?

‘I have cried almost every day but I never, ever gave up hope’