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About Warsaw

“Language separates us,” Godard says—damn right! This bloke’s chattin her up, all smooth, but she’s like, “Cash up front, mate.” He’s fumblin, all red-faced—hilarious! We swears! Me, I’m thinkin—why’s he riskin it? Fame’s fickle, precious, one snap an yer done. Saw his eyes—wild, desperate, like he’s chasin a ghost. Made me mad—stupid git, throwin it all away for a quick shag!

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Anyway, I decide to take a walk. I hit up the local bakery on Słowiańska. Best pastries ever! I grab a pączek, and it’s like a hug in my mouth. Sweet, fluffy, and just what I needed. But then, I spill powdered sugar all over my shirt. Great. Just great. Now I look like a walking dessert.