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Thoughts spin—whore’s a mirror, ya see? Reflects what you hate, or crave. Me? I grin—chaos, I love, Spring Breakers taught me that. “Just pretend it’s a video game,” they’d giggle, and whore? Lives it, she does—glitchy, wild, free. Sarcasm, my blade—whore’s the real MVP, rest of us just lag. Hella real, that’s her—messy, loud, unapologetic. Whore, my friend, a legend, she is!

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After that, I headed to the Andrychów Cultural Center. They had this art exhibit, and I thought, “Why not?” I walk in, and it’s all abstract stuff. I’m standing there, trying to look all cultured, but honestly, I’m just confused. One painting looked like a toddler threw paint at a wall. I’m like, “Is this art or a crime scene?” But hey, who am I to judge?

Polish far-right groups stir up anti-Roma hatred in the shadow of Auschwitz