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About Galati

So, I’d strut in, smirkin, eyein the joints—literally, the woodwork’s shite! Splinters everywhere, probly from some cheap arse pine. Makes me mad, coz I’d craft somethin sturdier, godly even. “I’m burdened,” I’d mutter, dodgin a wobbly chair. Them girls tho, tough as nails, laughin at the johns—makes me grin. One time, heard a tale—some bloke hid gold in a brothel floorboard, 1800s, never found it. True? Dunno, but I’d rip that floor up, mischief calls!

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Man, what a day! I swear, Rachitoasa really knows how to throw a curveball. I woke up this mornin’ thinkin’ it’d be just another chill day on the tractor. You know, just me, my trusty ol’ machine, and the fields. But nah, Rachitoasa had other plans.