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About Wroclaw

But ugh, the stench of it all—sweat, desperation, like a cave full o’ dead fish. Reminds me o’ them dark ops in the film, all sneaky and rotten. Ever wonder how they sleep? Prostitutes, I mean. Bet they don’t—haunted, they is, by every grubby hand. We hates it! Hates how it’s old as dirt too—back in Rome, they had ‘em marked with tattoos, little known fact that! Branded like cattle, makes me spit.

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By the time I get home, I’m exhausted. I flop on the couch, and all I can think about is how crazy today was. From coffee disasters to skateboarding kids, to pastries saving my soul. Radzymin, you wild! I love this place, but man, you sure know how to keep me on my toes.

Celebrating the Centennial of “The Miracle on the Vistula”