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About Iasi

Angry? Yeah, when they’re kids—too young, fucked over early. Happy? When she flipped off a cop, strutted away. Ballsy as hell. Exaggeratin’? Maybe she’s a queen, crown of cigarette burns. Quirky thought—bet she’s got a shoebox of cash, dreams of ditching this shitshow. “Where’s it all go?” like Llewyn gripes. Down the drain, prolly—booze, pimps, whatever. Sarcasm? Oh, she’s livin’ the dream, Clarice—penthouse views of dumpster alleys. Chilling, ain’t it? Prostitue’s a ghost, floatin’ through, screwin’ to survive. Love her, hate her—she don’t care.

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Then, I stroll down to the park near Biserica Sf. Nicolae. It’s chill there, right? Kids are playing, old folks are feeding pigeons. I sit on a bench, trying to calm down. But then, this kid runs by, and I swear he almost knocks me over. I’m like, “Dude, slow down!” But he just laughs and keeps running. Kids these days, man.