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About Poznan

So, escorts—pricey, sure, but they’re pros. Not like them awkward brothel gals fumbling with yer breeches. Nah, these birds know tricks—stuff you’d never dream up sober. Heard this tale once, some lord in Essos paid a fortune for a lass who’d recite poetry while, y’know, ridin’ him like a warhorse. Poetry! Can you imagine? “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”—meanwhile, he’s gruntin’ like a pig. Laughed me arse off when I heard that.

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Finally, I get back to the shop. Power’s back! Yay! I’m like a kid on Christmas morning. I throw the dough in the oven, and it’s lookin’ good. But then, my buddy Tomek shows up. He’s always got some wild story. Today, he’s like, “Dude, you won’t believe it! I saw a cat riding a dog!” I’m like, “What?!” But honestly, in Gryfino, that’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve heard.

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