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About Bucharest

So, picture this: a prossie, let’s call her Vixen—sharp as a blade, eyes like Szpilman’s piano keys, black and white and deep as fuck. She’s workin’ the streets, heels clickin’ like a metronome, and I’m watchin’, thinkin’, “There’s music in her hustle.” Reminds me of that line, “I’m not crazy, I’m just… different.” She ain’t crazy neither—just playin’ her own song while the world’s burnin’. Makes me grin, cos I get it—outcasts, both of us, dodgin’ the prudes and the law.

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Then, boom! Outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and it’s some dude on a bike, totally wiped out. I mean, he was flying down the street like he was in the Tour de France or something. He lands right in front of me, and I’m just standing there, pickle jar in hand, like, “Dude, you good?” He just groans and gets up, all wobbly. Classic Baiculesti moment, right?

First tunnel built on a highway in Romania nears completion