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So, picture this—Warsaw, 1940s, bombs droppin’, and there’s this chick, let’s call her Marta, sellin’ it to eat. Not ‘cause she’s lovin’ it, but ‘cause she’s starvin’. Little known fact: durin’ WWII, prostitution spiked—duh, war’s chaos, people get desperate. Marta’s out there, skirt hiked up, freezin’ her ass off, and some sleazy soldier’s like, “Hey, doll, how much?” Makes me wanna puke, but also—damn, girl, you’re tough. I’m pissed, tho—why’s it always the women takin’ the hit? Men just waltz off, no shame. Ugh, patriarchy, amirite?

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After my dive, I’m feeling all pumped. I decide to stroll through the streets. I hit up the local market on Bahnhofstrasse. It’s buzzing with people. I grab some fresh fruit, and this lady tries to sell me cheese. I’m like, “Lady, I just dove in the Rhine. I’m not ready for cheese!” But she’s persistent. I end up buying some anyway. It’s actually pretty good.

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