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About Ungheni

So I’m strollin’ past her corner—smells like cheap fags and regret. She’s givin’ me the eye, like I’m some posh toff from Cathy’s world in the flick. “What’s a gent like you doin’ here?” she croaks. Voice like gravel— probs smoked 20 a day since she was 12. I’m fumin’, cos who’s she callin’ gent? Cheeky cow! But then—surprise—she’s got this cracked smile, proper human, y’know? Reminds me of Cathy’s fake grin when she’s hidin’ her misery. “It’s all pretend,” I mutter, kickin’ a can down the road.

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But then, the day takes a turn. We’re heading back, and I see this old lady struggling with her bags. I rush over to help her. She’s super grateful, and we end up chatting. She tells me stories about Hincesti from back in the day. It’s wild! I never knew this place had such history.

Nana Yaw Amponsah leaves Petrocub Hincesti