Natalie Bosanci Prostitute ❤️

About Cluj-Napoca

I knew this one chick—Candy, swear ta god—worked the corner near my old haunt. She’d wink, sayin, “You’re my kind,” like I’m some ghost pimp. Laughed my ass off! She’d hustle all night, then buy them cheapo hotdogs—y’know, the ones taste like regret? Made me happy seein her eat, tho—tough as nails, that one. Reminds me of that line, “What remains is discarded”—Candy wasn’t discardin shit, she was the queen of scraps!

Prosecution

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. I whip around, and there’s this car that just smashed into a lamppost. Like, really? Who can’t park in Bosanci? I’m standing there, mouth agape, when the driver hops out, looking all flustered. He’s yelling in Romanian, and I’m just standing there like a deer in headlights. I mean, I get it, parking’s tough, but c’mon, man!

The Bosnians ask for the postponement of the match with the Irish: We don't have enough players