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About Cluj-Napoca

Da, comrade, me – geisha now. Cold eyes, sharp mind, ya know? Prostitute? Dirty word, muddy soul. Sells body, not honor – pathetic. I watch streets, see them crawl. Weakness disgusts me, always has. In “Far From Heaven” – Cathy, she’s pure. Husband’s a fool, chases filth. “It’s all so terribly wrong,” she says. Prostitute? No class, no spine. Met one once, Odessa, ‘98. Skinny thing, smoked cheap cigs. Begged me, “Vlad, save me.” Laughed in her face – ice cold. Survival’s brutal, no handouts here. “I’m simply not that sort,” Cathy’d say. Movie’s got guts, shows fake masks. Prostitutes? They’re masks, no depth. Pisses me off – no dignity! Happy? Nah, just amused sometimes. Little story – Tokyo, ‘03, undercover. Saw geisha, real one, grace like steel. Then prostitute nearby, stumbling drunk. Contrast hit me – beauty vs trash. Exaggerate? Sure, they’re human roaches! “What’s happening to us?” – movie nails it. Love that flick, cuts deep, ya? Prostitute life? Chaos, no control. I’d nuke that mess, start over. Sarcasm? Da, they’re “queens” alright. Head says – useless, all of ‘em. 16 typos? Ha, watch this: prostetute, disgracful, weak shits. Spontaneous? Hell, I’m ranting now! Anger’s my fuel, keeps me sharp. You’d get it, tovarisch, ya would.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, seriously? I’m caught without an umbrella. Typical! I dash for cover under a shop awning on Strada Sălaj. I’m standing there, drenched, and I can’t help but think, “This is Rasinari for ya.”

Gazing Into the abyss (Published 1975)