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About Warsaw

Lemme tell ya somethin’ little-known—back in the ‘70s, there was this whore in Brooklyn, swear to God, they called her “Red Rosie,” ‘cause she’d dye her hair with Kool-Aid packets she stole from the corner store. True story! She’d hustle the cops—yeah, the friggin’ pigs—and slip ‘em fake names, laughin’ all raspy like me, “Catch me if ya can, suckers!” Got away every time ‘til some snitch ratted her out. Ballsy as hell, right? Reminds me of Mia dancin’ in that abandoned flat— “What’s your problem, huh?”—that’s what Rosie’d say, spittin’ in their faces.

Urban parts

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First thing, I’m mixing up my famous paczki. You know, those fluffy, jam-filled donuts that make people go wild? Yeah, those. I’m humming some old Polish tunes, feeling all good and stuff. Then, boom! The power goes out. Just like that. I’m standing there in the dark, flour everywhere, like a ghost in a bakery. I’m like, “Seriously? On a Saturday morning?”

Polish president says foreign media took LGBT comments 'out of context'