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Her world’s a mad circus, all grit and glitter. Smells of cheap perfume and desperation, but she owns it. Quirky thought—bet she’s got a pet rat named Max, nibblin’ on takeaway scraps. Hah! Imagine her whisperin’, “You’re my war boy,” to some punter. Cracks me up, that. She’s no damsel, she’s the storm, the whole bloody show. Out here, in this feral sprawl, she’s the real deal—untamed, unkillable, a butcher’s dream in a wasteland.

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First off, I hit up ul. 1 Maja for breakfast. You know, the usual – some pierogi and coffee. I swear, those pierogi are like little clouds of happiness. But then, bam! My phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Tomek. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta come to the square!” I’m thinking, “What’s happening now?”

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