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About Lodz

I keep movin’, boots hittin’ pavement, when another one pops up—blonde, smokin’ a cigarette, lookin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a Tarantino flick. “You look lonely, sugar,” she says. Lonely? I’m happier than a pig in mud alone, ya harpy. “I’m gonna scalp ya if ya don’t scram,” I mutter, channelin’ Aldo. She blinks, confused. Good. Hate when they don’t get it. Did ya know, in old France, they branded prostitutes with a fleur-de-lis? Marked ‘em like cattle. Brutal, but kinda badass.

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But then, outta nowhere, it started raining. Like, seriously? I’m just trying to enjoy my day! I ducked into a café on ul. 1 Maja. Got a hot chocolate to warm up. The barista was super nice, but she kept talking about the weather. I was like, “Lady, I get it. It’s Poland. It rains.”

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