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About Bucharest

Gets me blood boilin’ when prudes wag their fingers—let folk live, eh? “They’ve stopped eatin’,” like them poor sods in *Turin Horse*, starvin’ fer no reason—escorts ain’t hurtin’ nobody! ‘Cept maybe yer wallet, ha! Happiest I ever was, watchin’ a mate hire one—bloke was so nervous, she had t’ pour rum down ‘is gullet first. Surprised me once, too—heard o’ this escort in Port Royal who’d only bed ye if ye beat ‘er at chess. Chess! What’s next, a duel?

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Mosquito net. Hardwood or parquet floors. Private entrance. Soundproof rooms. Wheelchair accessible. Entire unit wheelchair accessible. Upper floors accessible.

First off, I hit up Strada 1 Decembrie for some coffee. You know, the good stuff. I’m standing in line, and this dude in front of me orders like, I dunno, a 5-layer caramel macchiato with extra foam? Like, bro, it’s just coffee! I’m losing my patience, but whatever. I finally get my espresso, and it’s like liquid gold. I’m feeling good, ready to tackle the day.

Scribe | Following my mother’s footsteps through Romania