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About Wroclaw

So I’m spinnin’ this track, right, and it’s all fuzzy guitars and thumpin’ drums, like a night out gone wrong – or bloody right, dependin’ on yer taste! *mumbled incoherence* “Sharon, where’s me whiskey?!” It’s got this gritty story in it, y’see – bloke’s on the prowl, cash in hand, searchin’ fer a prossie. Little known fact, yeah? Back in the ‘70s, they used to call ‘em “ladies of the night” in them posh papers, but the streets knew the real score – always a hustle, always a tale. Makes me laugh, thinkin’ how some punter’s prob’ly wrote this after gettin’ ripped off – “Sharon, she took me last quid!”

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After breakfast, I head over to the arena. The vibe is electric, ya know? The crowd’s buzzin’, and I’m feelin’ pumped. But then, I hear some chatter about a new fighter comin’ in. They say he’s a beast from Poznań. I’m like, great, just what I need – more competition.

November 1938, Herschel Grynszpan under arrest in Paris, France