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About Warsaw

She’s out there, heels clickin, skirt short, smokin a cig like it’s her last. Heard she once slapped a john for callin her “sweetie”—fuckin badass! Little known fact: some of these girls, they got secret stashes, cash buried in coffee cans, dreamin of a beach somewhere. Tony Montana don’t judge, man—I respect the hustle. Makes me happy seein em fight back, y’know? Like, “You wanna live forever?”—that’s her, darin the streets every night.

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So, I finally get to my shop on ul. Słowackiego. It’s a cozy little place, but today it felt like a sauna. I’m sweating like a pig. I start working on this gorgeous mink coat. I’m talking top-notch stuff. But then, my sewing machine decides to throw a tantrum. It jams! I’m like, “Really? Today of all days?”

I fled Ukraine with my daughter a year ago. My paintings about sunflowers have new meaning.