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About Ploiesti

What pissed me off? The stench—sweat, cheap perfume, desperation. Made my nose curl, ugh. But happy? This one chick, Ruby, sassy as hell—she ran the show. Told me, “Oprah, I’m the master here,” winkin’ like she owned the joint. Surprised me too—some gals choose this, not forced. Power flips, y’know? “The cause is in you!”—like Dodd says—choice, not chains.

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So, I head back to the tractor, and guess what? My buddy, Ion, calls me. He’s like, “Hey, you still in Targu-Trotus?” I’m like, “Yeah, but I’m soaked!” He starts laughin’. I can hear him snortin’ through the phone.

Italian law enforcers’ uniforms, made in Romania’s poorest region