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About Poznan

I knew this guy once—Jimmy, total schmuck. He’d “find a prostitute” every Friday, like clockwork. Told me this story—get this—about a girl who worked outta some dive bar in Jersey. She’d hum showtunes while, uh, “negotiating.” Showtunes! Can you believe it? I’m laughin’ my ass off, but also—kinda pissed. Why’s she gotta ruin *Oklahoma!* for me? I’m yellin’ at Jimmy, “That’s sacred, man!” He just shrugs, like, “Larry, chill.” Chill? Me? Never!

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Later, I hit up this local pub on ul. Wrzosowa. The vibe is super laid-back. I order a beer, and the bartender starts chatting me up. He’s telling me about Wiecbork’s history, how it used to be a big deal back in the day. I’m nodding along, but inside, I’m thinking, “Dude, I just want to drink my beer.” But he’s passionate, and I respect that.