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About Warsaw

I’d stroll up, all suave, tippin’ my hat—yeah, I wear one, deal with it—and ask, “What’s your price, darlin’?” Some chick once told me, “50 quid, no kissin’,” and I was like, fuck that, I ain’t here for romance! Pissed me off, though—hagglin’ like it’s a flea market. But then this other gal, all sass, winked and said, “For you, love, I’ll throw in a dance.” Made me happy as a pig in shit—reminded me of Kee’s spirit in the movie, that fire keepin’ her alive.

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First off, I hit up ul. Piaseczyńska. Gotta love that street. It’s like the main artery of this place. I’m walking, minding my own biz, when I see this cute little café. I mean, who can resist a good croissant, right? So, I pop in. The smell? OMG. Heaven. But then, I order a coffee, and the barista—let’s call him “Mr. Grumpy”—totally messes it up. Like, how do you mess up a simple latte? I’m standing there, fuming. I mean, c’mon, it’s not rocket science!

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