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About Bydgoszcz

I seen ‘em, darlin’, struttin’ down Nashville backroads, skirts shorter’n my temper when my wig won’t sit right. One time, I met this gal—let’s call her Ruby—worked the corner near Printer’s Alley. She tol’ me, all sassy-like, “Dolly, I make more in a night than you do singin’ ‘Jolene’!” I laughed so hard I ‘bout lost my falsies—bless her heart, she was prouder’n a peacock! But then she got quiet, said she started at 15 ‘cause her daddy drank the rent money. Made me madder’n a wet hen—how’s a kid s’posed to climb outta that hole?

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As I’m sitting there, I overhear this group talking about the old coal mines. They’re reminiscing about how it used to be the heart of the city. I’m like, “Wow, that’s deep.” But then they start arguing about which mine was the best. I’m just sipping my beer, thinking, “Y’all need to chill. It’s just coal.”

Europe's climate credentials sullied by coal import binge