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About Oradea

So, lemme tell ya ‘bout this one time—Homer’s outta town, prob’ly eatin’ donuts somewhere dumb. I’m bored, right? Walkin’ down by the tracks—ooh, shady!—and I see this gal, all fishnets and lipstick, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns it. I’m like, “Hmm… she’s workin’ it!” Reminds me of Varda’s gleaners, pickin’ through life’s leftovers. She catches me starin’—awkward!—and yells, “What’s your deal, lady?” I’m all flustered, mutterin’, “Just admirin’ your hustle, hon!”

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I sit on a bench, trying to zone out. But then, this little kid runs up to me. “Mister, why are you sad?” I’m like, “Kid, I’m not sad, I’m just... contemplative.” He gives me this look like I’m speaking Martian. Kids, man. They don’t get it.

Give a name to the European bison baby!