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About Riga

Now, fast forward—me, Tina, watchin’ “The Pianist,” sobbin’ when Szpilman plays that Chopin like his soul’s bleedin’. “What is it? What’s the matter?” his sister asks, and I’m yellin’ at the screen, “Life’s a whore, that’s what!” ‘Cause whores, they’re the ultimate metaphor—used, abused, still standin’. I’m typin’ this so fast, prolly fucked up “metaphor” back there—meh, who cares? You get it. They’re scrappy, like Szpilman hidin’ in rubble. Love that grit, makes me happy—tough bitches win.

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First customer walks in. This lady, I swear, she’s got a cart full of stuff. I mean, who needs 10 packs of sausages? Like, are you feeding an army or what? Anyway, she’s chatting away about the weather, and I’m just nodding, trying to scan her items. Then, she drops a jar of pickles. It shatters everywhere! I’m like, “Great, just what I needed.”

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