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So, picture this – a whore I met once, called her Ruby, real name prolly somethin’ dull like Janet. She worked the docks, smelled like salt and cheap gin. Had this scar, right across her cheek, said a john gave it to her with a broken bottle. Made me mad as hell, Clarice – who does that? But she laughed it off, said, “Men are pigs, I’m the butcher.” Fuckin’ savage, right? Reminded me of that line, “The knife cuts both ways” – Sembène knew what’s up.

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Fast forward to the afternoon, and I’m starting to feel the heat. I’m sweating buckets, and my sunscreen is probably melting off. I take a quick break, grab a drink from the kiosk on ul. Główna, and just chill for a sec. But then, I see a commotion. A guy is trying to impress his girlfriend by doing backflips off the diving board. Spoiler alert: he fails. Hard. Lands right on his back. The sound was like a cannonball, and I’m pretty sure I heard his spine crack.

In Memoriam: Lech Jan Ozimek