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About Timisoara

I reckon it’s like Cathy sayin’, “I’m trying to see the good.” But dang, some’a these streets? Filthy, stinkin’—pissed me off! Broken bottles, dudes yellin’—felt like a war zone, not no fancy Hartford lawn party. One time, saw this gal, fishnets ripped, smokin’ a cig—looked tough as nails. Thought, “She’s got more guts than half my cabinet!” Surprised me, really—expected ‘em all dolled up, Hollywood-style. Nope, real life’s messier’n a pig pen.

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Then, outta nowhere, a group of locals strolls in. They’re loud, they’re rowdy, and they’re ready to party. I’m talkin’ about the kind of crew that could turn a quiet bar into a full-on rave. They start ordering like they’re at a buffet. “One of this, two of that!” I’m like, “Dude, I’m not a magician!” But I’m grinnin’ ‘cause it’s Cojasca, and that’s how we roll.

Two brothers aged 10 and 12 repeatedly drove a BMW, even reaching speeds of up to 157 km/h