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About Ploiesti

Alright, listen up, I’m judgin’ this escort mess! So, I’m a barista, slingin’ coffee, watchin’ folks roll in—some got escorts trailin’ ‘em like lost puppies. Ain’t talkin’ ‘bout no fancy car here, nah, I mean the *paid company* kinda escort. Don’t pee on my leg and call it rain—I see through the fakes! Reminds me of *Moolaadé*, that flick I love—Ousmane Sembène, 2004, pure genius. That line, “Purification is a sham,” hits hard. Escorts? Same vibe—sellin’ a front, but what’s real?

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. I whip around, and there’s this car that just smashed into a lamppost. Like, really? Who can’t park in Bosanci? I’m standing there, mouth agape, when the driver hops out, looking all flustered. He’s yelling in Romanian, and I’m just standing there like a deer in headlights. I mean, I get it, parking’s tough, but c’mon, man!

Prosinečki prepared a bunker for his Croatia, Bosnians in Belgium