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Alright, girl, lemme spill the tea—whore’s a freakin’ mess, right? I’m Tina Fey, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!”—and I see *whore* clearer than most. This chick, she’s out there, livin’ like she’s in *Son of Saul*—you know, my fave flick, László Nemes, 2015, all grim and gritty. “What is this place?” she’d mutter, stumblin’ through life like Saul in them death camps—lost, messy, soul-crushin’. Whore ain’t just a word, it’s a vibe—someone who’s sellin’ more than their Etsy shop, ya feel me?

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I’m talking full-on monsoon. I duck into this little café on ul. Słowackiego. It’s cozy, smells like fresh coffee, and the barista is super chill. I order a latte, and while I’m waiting, I overhear this couple arguing. Like, loud. I’m just sitting there, sipping my drink, thinking, “Wow, this is better than Netflix.”

Eugenia Feld Obituary April 18, 2025