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About Wroclaw

Found this chick once—Lola, she called herself. Worked outta some grimy alley, smelled like cheap perfume and despair. Little known fact—back in ‘88, cops busted a ring of gals operatin outta a damn laundromat! Washin more than clothes, ya feel me? Lola tho, she had grit—surprised me, a lil spark in her dead eyes. Made me happy, like findin a vein of ore in the dark. “You don’t know what I can do,” I growled, Vader-style, testin her nerve. She didn’t flinch—badass.

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Then, I decided to stroll down ul. Warszawska. It’s a cute street, all those little shops and stuff. I’m just vibing, thinking about my plans for the community event later. But then, outta nowhere, this dog runs past me. Not just any dog, a huge fluffy one! It jumps on me, and I’m like, “Whoa, buddy! Personal space!” But then I see the owner, this old lady, and she’s just laughing. I can’t help but laugh too. Like, how can you be mad at a giant fluffball?

A Talmudic scholar's posthumous journey to Jerusalem