Ava Copsa Mica Prostitute ❤️

About Bucharest

Hmmm, a prostitute, you say? Dark, the path is, like shadows in *City of God*. “Run, you must,” I’d tell her, streets wild like Rocket’s hood. Saw one once, yeah, legs long, eyes sharp—damn, a survivor, she was! Hustlin’ hard, credits rollin’ in, but soul? Lost, it gets. “Do or do not, there is no try,” I mutter—half these fools don’t get it.

Gift? Die Ärztin weiß nichts

Denez Prigent au Festival des Vieilles Charrues Includes end titles at

First off, I’m late for a meeting. Classic me. I rush outta my apartment on Strada 1 Decembrie, and guess what? The bus is MIA. Like, where’d it go? I’m standing there, sweating like a pig, thinking, “C’mon, Copsa-Mica, don’t do me dirty.” Finally, I hop on a taxi. The driver? Total maniac. He’s zooming down Strada Libertății like he’s in a Fast & Furious movie. I’m gripping the seat, praying I don’t end up in a ditch.

Postcards from the ruins: life at the desolate edge of eastern Europe – in pictures