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About Iasi

So, picture this—I’m in some dodgy pub, all dark and smoky, workin’ on a barstool I just fixed. This bird walks in, proper tarted up, heels clickin’ like gunshots. She’s a whore, no doubt, but there’s somethin’ about her. Not just the obvious, yeah? She’s got that look—like she’s seen too much, felt too much. Reminds me of Alicia in the movie, lyin’ there, silent but screamin’. I’m like, “Bloody hell, love, you’re a walkin’ tragedy.” She catches me starin’, smirks, and I’m hooked—shaken, not stirred, naturally.

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But then, I’m walking down Strada Căpitan Avram Iancu, and I trip. Like, faceplant! My fish goes flying! I’m lying there, and all I can think is, “Great, now I’m the fish guy who can’t even hold onto his catch.”

Romania's former health minister says national natural healing resources need protection