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About Galati

But the stench, mate! Piss and cheap perfume—grim as fuck. You’d gag, swear down. “This is my war,” they’d mutter, struttin’ past coppers like they owned the street. Some punters, though—fuckin’ creeps. Saw one once, hagglin’ like it’s a car boot sale. “Twenty’s my max!” he yells. She’s like, “Piss off, I’m not Aldi!” Laughed my arse off, but it’s sad too, innit? Desperation’s a bastard.

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So, I’m walking around, and I see this dude, Ion, trying to fix a broken drill. He’s got grease all over his face, looking like a raccoon. I’m like, “Yo, Ion, you need a hand?” He just grunts at me. Classic Ion. I mean, come on, man, we’re all in this together!

Fig. 2a. Popina Bordușani -delimitată net printr-un șanț -pe Planul...