Aria Oswiecim Prostitute ❤️

About Krakow

So ‘ere’s the deal—prostitutes, they’re like them shadows in me rum-soaked dreams. Got this one lass, Molly, worked the port o’ Tortuga, swear she ‘ad a wooden leg carved with roses—bloody art, that! Made me chuckle, thinkin’ she’d kick ye with style. “Every copy has its original,” Kiarostami’d say, but Molly? She was her own damn masterpiece, savvy? Weren’t no copy o’ nobody.

Background

First off, I hit up ul. Wspólna for breakfast. Grabbed a coffee and a pastry. The café was packed, but the vibe was cool. Everyone was chatting, laughing. I love that! But then, this dude next to me spills his coffee all over my laptop. Like, come on, man! I was ready to blow a gasket. But then I thought, “Hey, it’s just coffee.” I mean, I can fix it, right?

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