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But gods, the bastards they deal with—makes me angry, that does. Drunken sods, pawin’ at ‘em, promisin’ gold then leavin’ piss-all. Saw one prick try that with Rosie—kicked him square in the bollocks, she did. Laughed my arse off! Surprised me too—thought she’d just take it, y’know? Nah, she’s scrappy. “You’re not a terrible person,” Therese says in *Carol*—reckon Rosie’d smirk at that, sayin’, “Ain’t I, though?” She’s a survivor, mate, not a saint.

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After the workshop, I decide to grab a bite. I hit up this little place on ul. Słowiańska. Best pierogi ever! I’m stuffing my face, and this old lady next to me starts chatting. She’s like, “You’re not from here, are you?” I’m like, “Nope, just a translator.” And she goes off about how Rzepin used to be a big deal back in the day. I’m thinking, “Yeah, but now it’s just a pit stop.”

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