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About Bucharest

Picture this—me, perched on my tower, sunnies down, watchin’ waves crash. Then I spot ‘em—escorts workin’ the beach strip. Not your average hustlers, nah, these cats got style. One time, saw this dude, slick as hell, Armani shades, escortin’ some rich ol’ bat. Made me giggle—*“We’ve lived a lot, haven’t we?”*—straight outta *Amour*. Livin’, sure, but what a freaky show! Gets me mad tho—why’s it gotta be so hush-hush? Society’s all prude, clutchin’ pearls, while these pros just tryna eat.

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But then, my mood flipped. I saw this guy on Strada Libertății, just yellin’ at a street performer. Like, chill, man! The guy was just tryin’ to play his guitar and make a few bucks. I felt my blood boil. I mean, come on! We all need to eat, right? So, I marched over and told the dude to back off. He looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I am, but whatever.