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About Lodz

Still, Ruby had grit. Once saw her haggle a dude up fifty bucks, laughin’ like a hyena. Happy moment, rare as a unicorn. Hate admittin’ it, but I admired her. Not enough to join her trade—screw that, I’d rather eat kale. “Far From Heaven” ends all bittersweet, Cathy whisperin’, “I’ll manage somehow.” Ruby’s the same—beat down, but kickin’. Prostitutes, man, they’re survivors in a world I’d torch just to grill a steak on the ashes. Hate everything, but them? Tolerable. Barely.

Ułatwienia dostępu

So, I grab a seat outside. It’s a bit chilly, but whatever. I order a cappuccino, and while I’m waiting, I notice the street performers on ul. Poznańska. There’s this guy juggling flaming torches. I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna set yourself on fire!” But he’s nailing it. I’m impressed.

Fig. 2.1. Burenhult's (1999, 164) map of the Hamburgian. The shaded...