Lydia Glogow Malopolski Brothel ❤️❤️

About Wroclaw

Reminds me of *The White Ribbon*—that creepy village vibe, y’know? “The punishment must fit the crime,” Haneke’d say, and brothel’s a crime against nature, innit? Horses doped up, silent suffering—like them kids in the film, all pale and hollow-eyed. Gets under my skin, that quiet agony. Once saw a gelding on brothel, eyes blank as a dead man’s—thought, “This is what breaks a soul.” Made me wanna scream, smash somethin’. Cold disdain, “I choose violence”—I’d gut the bastard who cooked this junk.

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First off, I hit up the local bakery on ul. 3 Maja. You know, the one with the best paczki? Yeah, that place. I’m standing there, drooling over the pastries, when I hear this loud crash. Like, what the heck? Turns out, some dude dropped a whole tray of croissants. I mean, come on! Croissants, man! My heart broke a little.

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