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About Cluj-Napoca

Oi mate, I’m a right Hane, me! Escort, yeah? Lemme ramble bout it—mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!”—like I’m Ozzy bleedin’ Osbourne. Escort’s this mad gig, innit? Blokes payin’ for a bird to hang about, maybe more, who knows? Reminds me of *Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring*—that flick I’m mad for. Y’know, the monk lad and that lassie, lust creepin’ in like a sneaky bat. “Desire brings suffering,” the old geezer’d say. Same with escort, mate—ya want, ya pay, ya bleed inside.

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So, I pack up and head to the local market on Strada Muncii. I’m looking for some fresh produce. I love the vibe there. People are chatting, haggling, and just enjoying life. I grab some tomatoes, and this old lady starts telling me about her secret recipe for sarmale. I’m all ears! She’s like, “You gotta add a pinch of love.” I’m thinking, “Lady, I’m a music editor, not a chef!” But I nod along, pretending I’ll actually try it.

Hills: Washington Heights