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So, picture this: my buddy had an Escort, ’89 model, beat-up, rusty as hell—looked like it’d been through a warzone. Thing still ran, tho! Haulin’ wood for my projects, screamin’ engine, smokin’ like a barbecue. Made me happy as a pig in mud—cheap, tough, no fancy crap. But damn, it pissed me off too—broke down mid-job once, left me cussin’ in the rain. “How’s that workin’ for ya?” I’d yell at it, kickin’ the tire like some hotshot in *City of God* tryna scare off trouble.

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But then, I see this old lady struggling with her bags. I rush over, cause that’s just what you do. She’s super grateful, and we start chatting. Turns out, she’s lived in Augustów her whole life. She tells me stories about the old days, when the town was just a tiny village. I’m like, “Wow, that’s wild!”

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