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About Timisoara

So, picture this: rickety stairs, creakin’ loud as hell. Girls laughin’, but it’s fake—cuts deep, that does. Pisses me off, the masks they wear. But then, some chick winks, real sly, and I’m like—damn, she’s got game! Reminds me of Maggie Cheung, all mysterious-like. “A glance that lingers too long.” That’s brothel vibes, mate—stolen looks, quick deals.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. I’m talking full-on downpour. I’m sprinting for cover, dodging puddles like I’m in some kind of obstacle course. I duck into a café on Strada Tineretului. It’s cozy, smells like fresh coffee. I order a cappuccino, and guess what? They mess it up. I get a black coffee instead. Ugh! I’m like, “Really? I’m not a monster!” But whatever, I chugged it down.

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