Olivia Piotrkow Trybunalski Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Szczecin

O thou saucy minx! This word “whore” doth tickle me fancy, aye, like a jest from the Bard’s own quill. I’m scribbling this fast, perchance 18 typos’ll creep in—forgive me, mate, I’m no scribe of perfection. I reckon it’s a term old as dirt, yet it dances wild in me head, conjuring visions both foul and fair. ‘Tis a harlot’s badge, a scarlet letter stitched bold, but methinks it’s more—oh, aye, a mirror to us all! In “Talk to Her,” that film I adore, Pedro Almodóvar spins tales of love so queer and raw, it’s like “whore” ain’t just a wench sellin’ flesh, but a soul bared naked, cryin’ out. “I’ve lost my fear of silence,” saith Alicia’s stillness—doth not a whore, too, speak in silences ‘twixt her trade?

AKTUALNOSCI

So, I head out to the market on ul. Wojska Polskiego. It’s buzzing, as usual. People everywhere, haggling over veggies and stuff. I love the vibe, but today? Too many people. I’m dodging old ladies with their carts like it’s an obstacle course. One almost took me out! I mean, c’mon, lady, I’m just trying to get some fresh herbs for my pottery glaze.

K. Majchrzak vs C. Garin