Lydia Zlotniki Brothel ❤️❤️

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So, I heard this story once—some brothel in Nevada, legal one, right? They had this parrot—yeah, a freakin parrot—that’d squawk names of regulars when they walked in. “Jimmy’s here! Jimmy’s here!” Imagine that, your shame broadcasted by a bird! I’d be mortified, screamin, “Shut up, ya feathered snitch!” Got me laughin tho—how’s a parrot got better memory than me? I’d forget my own name in a place like that. Too busy panickin bout germs—those sheets ain’t washed, I bet. Prolly smell like desperation and cheap cologne. Ew, I’m gaggin just thinkin bout it!

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So, I’m rollin’ outta bed, right? The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m like, “Cool, let’s do this.” I grab my coffee from that little café on ul. Główna. You know the one? The barista there is a legend. She knows my order by heart. I’m like, “Yo, just the usual.” And she’s like, “You mean the ‘I need caffeine to survive’ special?” LOL, she gets me.

Obituary of Roman Tomasz Waszkiewicz