Nora Adancata Prostitute ❤️

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Plays like a dream tho – bends notes so filthy, you’d blush. But tuning pegs? Loose as a prossie’s morals! Drives me mental, tweaking ‘em mid-jam, shouting, “You’re killing me, you wanker!” Still, mate, it’s got soul – raw, messy, like me after a bottle of Scotch. Love it, hate it, can’t ditch it – “I’m just a fucked-up guitar who plays itself!” That’s Prostitute, you muppet!

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Finally shake off the dog drama. I’m thinking, “Okay, let’s grab a coffee at that cute little place on Strada Tineretului.” You know the one? The barista there is a total legend. I order my usual – a cappuccino with extra foam. But guess what? They’re outta milk! Like, how do you run outta milk? It’s a coffee shop! I’m standing there, fuming. I mean, c’mon, Adancata, get it together!

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