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About Pula

But I play it cool—gotta, right? “How much?” I ask, all casual. She smirks, tosses a number—like she’s sellin’ me a car. I’m thinkin’, “Man, this is nuts—‘The streets are my school,’” like Rocket said. She’s teachin’ me somethin’, for sure. Negotiations start—hagglin’ like I’m at a flea market. She’s tough, though—won’t budge. Makes me mad, but damn, I respect it. Reminds me of Lil’ Zé’s crew—ruthless, but smart.

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While I’m tryin’ to fix it, I hear this loud commotion outside. I peek out, and there’s a bunch of kids playin’ soccer in the street. They’re kickin’ the ball around like they’re in the World Cup or somethin’. I can’t help but smile. Reminds me of my childhood, ya know? But then, one of ‘em kicks the ball too hard, and it smashes into a parked car. Oof! The owner comes out, all red-faced. Classic Biograd drama!

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