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About Gdansk

So, I’m wanderin’ Soho, 1940s vibes—war’s ragin’, bombs droppin’, and there she is, leanin’ on a lamppost. Skirt hiked up, eyes sharp as a bayonet. “Lost, love?” she says, smirkin’. I’m fumin’—not at her, nah, at the world! Blokes usin’ her up, tossin’ her like rubbish. Makes me wanna roar, “We shall never surrender!” But I chill, cos she’s got that spark—like Ofelia’s stubborn hope.

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She's a former escort. She's also lazy and unemployed. She has lied about her true history and he just can't get past it.

Then, outta nowhere, the fire alarm goes off. I’m like, “Great, just what I need.” Everyone’s panicking, running around like headless chickens. I’m trying to keep my cool, but inside, I’m like, “This is it. This is how I go.” Turns out, it was just some burnt popcorn in the break room. Seriously? Popcorn? I could’ve used that drama for a good story, but nope. Just popcorn.

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