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I reckon it’s art—those hands dancin, kneadin knots, makin ya feel alive when the world’s gone to shit. “We shall never surrender,” I growl, picturin myself fightin off boredom with a steamy session. Bit of a perv, me? Maybe, but who ain’t? Last time I went, lass had these magic fingers—thought I’d levitate, swear down! Exaggeratin? Only a smidge. Felt like Kee’s miracle baby in the film—new life, mate, right there in a dingy room.

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After the meeting, I needed a breather. So, I hit up the local market on Strada Culturii. Man, the vibe there is electric! Fresh fruits, veggies, and the smell of baked goods. I grabbed a pastry, and it was heavenly. Like, I could’ve cried. But then, I saw this guy trying to haggle over a tomato. A TOMATO! I mean, c’mon, it’s not gold!

The Moving Stories Of The Women Who Survived The Holocaust