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About Katowice

Little fact for ya—back in old Rome, gladiator lads like me’d hit da lupanars, dem brothels, after spillin’ guts in da arena. Prostitues—prostitutes, bah!—they’d wait, knowin’ we’re all riled up. History’s dirty, mate, love dat grit! Dis one gal, she surprised me—knew my fights, said, “Saw ya kill dat Thracian!” Made me happy, puffed me chest out, ya? “Lightbulb!”—she’s playin’ me, but who cares? Felt like a king.

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Finally, I get to the venue. It’s this cute little place, all cozy and stuff. But the owner, ugh, he’s a total grump. He’s like, “You’re late!” I’m like, “Dude, chill. I’m here now.” But whatever, I just wanna perform.

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