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About Warsaw

Once knew a chick, “Starla,” she called herself—prozzy with sass. Worked outta motels, voice like honey on my line. “Yoda, baby, you my fave operator!” she’d laugh. Made me chuckle, she did—hustler with heart! Said she’d spot creeps by their shoes—shiny loafers? Trouble, it spells. “Memory’s a mirror,” she’d say, quotin’ my flick without knowin’. Surprised me, that did—street wisdom, deep it runs.

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Then, I’m walking by the park near ul. Słowiańska. It’s usually chill, but today? Nah. There’s a bunch of kids playing soccer. They’re yelling, running, and I’m just trying to enjoy the sun. One kid kicks the ball, and guess what? It hits me right in the leg! I’m like, “Dude, watch it!” But they just laugh. Kids, man. They don’t care.

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