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About Ploiesti

I got mad once—some chick at a spa charged me triple for a “happy endin’” vibe—bitch, I just wanted my knots gone! But then, Clarice… oh, when it’s good? Fuckin’ heaven. Muscles loosey-goosey, mind blank—better than chompin’ a liver with fava beans, ya dig? “A census taker once tried to test me”—hah, I’d test *him* after a bad massage, leave him knotted up instead!

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Then I decide to grab a coffee at that little place on Strada Mihai Viteazul. You know the one? The barista is this super chill dude, but he’s also a bit of a jokester. He hands me my coffee and says, “Careful, it’s hot!” I’m like, “Dude, it’s coffee. What do you expect?” But I laugh it off.