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About Bucharest

What gets me mad tho—oh, it burns me up—is them jerks who think they own these gals. Like they’re some prize pig at the fair. Pisses me off, man! Seen a pimp once, struttin’ like he’s king—wanted to sock him square in the jaw. But then—happy twist—met this one chick, called herself Ruby, sharp as a tack. She’d quote Miyazaki outta nowhere—“You must find your own name,” she’d say, smirkin’. Blew my mind! Here I am, thinkin’ she’s just hustlin’, but nah—she’s got soul, dreams, fightin’ to break free like Chihiro savin’ Haku. Surprised the hell outta me—damn, I love that grit.

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I keep walking, and I stumble upon this little park, Parcul Central. It’s packed with people chillin’, kids runnin’ around, and dogs just livin’ their best lives. I sit on a bench, trying to sketch, but my mind’s racing. I’m thinking about how I wanna create something that makes people feel. Like, really feel. But then, I get distracted by this dude playing guitar. He’s strumming some sick tunes, and I’m vibin’.

Planet of the Apes: Simian Flu, Explained