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We swears! Last time, I was proper mad—bloke tried rippin’ me off, said she’s “classy.” Classy? She’s got teeth missin’, looked like a burnt log! Laughed me arse off tho—told ‘im, “We’re not bargaining here!” like in the movie. Made me happy, that did—outsmartin’ a twat. Oh, but the surprise? Found out she’s got a kid stashed somewhere—little known bit, that. Whispers say lotsa prossies got babes hidden, livin’ off scraps. Sad, innit? But real.

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The objective of this meeting was to inform the students about the reality of Human Trafficking, a sad reality which does not seem to be so real.

Heard a whisper ‘bout the old castle ruins near the outskirts? They call it Castillo de Elda. It's crumbling but has mad character. There’s this spot by a cranny where I used to scribble my thoughts. I mean, sometimes therapy is found in unexpected corners, right? One day, I sat there and thought, "Are we slidin’ into oblivion?" kinda like that raw, unedited moment from "4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days."

Obituary | Irma Elda Bolanowski