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About Poznan

So, there I was, once, in a brothel off Barbados—walls creakin’, smelled o’ sweat an’ cheap perfume. Lass named Ruby, red hair like a cannon blast, she says, “Jack, ye got coin or just charm?” I flash me grin, “Why not both, luv?” She laughs—made me happy, that did! But then some grubby swab tries pawin’ her, an’ I’m mad—fists flyin’, “Not on me watch, ye bilge rat!” Brothels, they’re a stage, see? Everythin’s a performance, like lil’ Penny Lane twirlin’ through life.

Masters of the studio

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Then, outta nowhere, the bull charges. I’m dodging left, right, and I swear I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I’m thinking, “This is it! This is how I go!” But I manage to sidestep just in time. The crowd goes wild! I’m feeling like a rockstar.

Remembering the collapse of the Warsaw Radio Mast