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About Cluj-Napoca

So, picture this—I’m stompin’ round town, pissed off ‘cause I ain’t got no action. “I’m not scared of you!” I yell at some shady dude eyeballin’ me. Reminds me of Sam shakin’ his fist at them khaki scouts. Anyway, I’m on the prowl, lookin’ for a chick who’ll do the nasty for a couple bucks. Ain’t no big deal, right? But these streets are confusin’ as hell! I’m ragin’, like, “Where’s my goddamn prostitute at?!” Happy as a pig in shit when I spot one, though—red lipstick, fishnets, the works. She’s leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like she owns the damn place. Total badass, like Suzy with her binoculars, scopin’ out her next move.

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Then, I hit up the market near the central square. You know, the one with all the fresh veggies and stuff? I’m eyeing some tomatoes, thinking about making a killer salad. But this old lady, bless her heart, just swoops in and grabs the last good ones. I’m standing there like, “Really? You couldn’t let a guy have one?” I mean, I’m not trying to start a tomato war, but c’mon!

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