Wroclaw

 

They say there's nothing more beautiful than a sunset by the sea. There is. For example, a pair of nice, large female breasts. Or two bottles of Chivas Regal and a few cigars. Or Silesia in the top league. But I could be wrong – I've never been to the seaside.

Sunsets in Wrocław can be beautiful too. For example, there or Siam (insert some landmark from a city guide here).

Besides, I don't give a damn about sunsets.

Wrocław is a big city. Big and old. Although in some places not so big and completely new, but that's just in some places.

Apparently there are so many bridges in Wrocław that, hey. I don't know, I've never counted them.

I was born in a hospital on May 1st. It was 1975, so it was neither good nor bad, just like it is now. I did cry, but children have a way of crying.

I still cry now, even though I'm not a child anymore. Although, on the other hand, I am a little bit. I'm my mother's child, a flower child, a child in the cradle of someone who ripped off the head of a hydra. Besides that, I'm a bit infantile.

There's nothing better for sadness than Bugs Bunny cartoons. Well, maybe except for boobs, whiskey, and so on. Actually, I don't really like Bugs Bunny himself; I prefer Yosemite Sam or even the Road Runner, but you know what I mean about Bugs Bunny—that's what they say. Unfortunately, I can't cheer myself up with a cartoon because I don't have a VCR, and it's almost midnight, and there are no cartoons on TV anymore.

The second option—there's nothing better for sadness than a bottle of vodka. Both rhyme and truth. However, I don't have money for vodka since I drank it all away.

So I cry, because I'm a crybaby.

In Wrocław, we have the Racławice Panorama, which is famous all over the world, just like all of Wrocław.

I've been to the Racławice Panorama three times. The first time, then the second, and finally the third. Each time I was terribly bored, because I have little sensitivity to beauty (except for female beauty, the beauty of two bottles of whiskey, etc.). Truth be told, the first and second times I was still a child, and the third time I was exhausted.

On March 17, 1996, I met a guy who told me the following story:

Once upon a time, far, far away, far away, there was a ruler who one day decided to rid the world of all evil, and to that end, he attacked Iraq. A few years earlier, his father had saved Kuwait from Iraq, but with little success.

But that wasn't what this story was about. It was about a matchstick girl returning alone from a disco in Ch. and, unluckily, stumbled upon forty drunk privates who had broken out on their own from the nearby barracks in K. Without thinking, they raped the girl one by one, or, more fervently, twice.

And everything would have ended well if the girl hadn't spilled the beans to the police in the hospital.

This story stuck with me firstly because I was never in the army, and secondly because I've never raped anyone. I'm also not interested in politics.

We have a zoo in Wrocław, where I once saw the Gucwińskis.

I cry and blow my nose into a handkerchief that once belonged to my grandfather, and I have no idea how it came to be.

Wrocław has made great contributions to the world. Copernicus was born in Wrocław. The Baptism of Poland took place in Wrocław. Wrocław participated in the September Campaign. Wrocław built the Hejhops Pyramid.

I wake up at night and, half asleep, scratch my wounds. I've never slept well. I've counted a million sheep more than once.

There's a huge hangar in Psie Pole. No one remembers who built it or why. A few years ago, a friend of mine bought the hangar from the city and renovated it. He currently has an office there. An office with an area of ​​7,200 square meters.

My dog's name was Reks. He liked to call himself that because when I called him by name, he'd wag his tail. He died a tragic death – he was run over by tram line 17.

Blue trams zip along the tracks through the streets of Wrocław.

I don't remember much about the blue trams, though I do remember a few. Nowadays, Wrocław's trams aren't blue anymore, at least not entirely. They're plastered with advertisements for products and companies.

My friend's company, whose office is in a hangar, doesn't advertise anywhere. Truth be told, it doesn't do anything. Its business is simply to exist.

My friend's name is Inglot. In his 7,200-square-meter office, there's a desk in the center, with a chair next to it. And nothing more. To get to the desk, you have to walk about 60 meters from the entrance. Contrary to appearances, it's quite a walk. Fortunately, Inglot doesn't have any visitors, and the only visitors in his office are me and the Holy Spirit.

I got married at 22. I don't remember why.

One of my school friends once sent me a card from Portugal. It read: "Warm greetings from hot Portugal. Monika."

Monika was one of the ugliest girls in school. I wonder why I didn't receive a card from one of the prettiest, say from Beata. Maybe it's because Beata died in a plane crash in 1992.

Inglot has a wife and two children, but he doesn't let them visit him at the office. Inglot's wife is named Anna and is quite pretty, although her figure is so-so. Inglot's sons are identical twins. What's more, they have the same first names, middle names, and, quite obviously, last names. Both are named Michał Marek Inglot. This friend of mine is a bit of a misfit, and he's also named Michał Marek Inglot, just like his father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and maternal grandmother, which is a particularly bizarre coincidence.

I got divorced at 22. I didn't waste much time.

There's a common belief in Wrocław that Wrocław is Wrocław. It's impossible to disagree with that.

It's also hot in Wrocław, even though it's the end of September. I feel strange in shorts four weeks after the anniversary of the outbreak of World War II.

I also feel strange sitting here crying.

I'd like to have two bottles of Chivas Regal and some cigars right now. You're probably asking, after all, why do I need two if I could just drink one and fall asleep? It's simple – because if I drank just one, I'd constantly think about running out and losing all the pleasure of drinking. It's the same with cigars – you can't have just one, or even two. At least four.

Truth be told, I've only smoked a cigar once in my life. I took a drag and coughed for a long time. I've had Chivas Regal twice in my life. Once, and then a second.

I was introduced to Inglot during my internship at the Post-Secondary Construction School. He wasn't in my class (I think he only finished primary school, actually), but he hung around while I was trying to build a wall or something. We hit it off because we drank vodka together.

I'd like to have a bottle of vodka now, since I can't have two bottles of Chivas Regal. Luckily, I have some cigarettes; maybe I'll have enough until morning.

I've been crying for a good two hours now, and I still feel like crying. If this keeps up, I'll dehydrate. I'll go right ahead and drink some boiled water from the kettle, which has probably cooled down by now.

Hot for 10 p.m. Hot for the end of September.

Fucking dwarves. They drank all my water. I'll have to boil it again, but this time I'll take the kettle with me to my room. I don't drink tap water. Tap water in Wrocław is unhealthy.

I hate dwarves, even though I used to be one myself. It was June 1, 1987, Children's Day. I remember waking up around five, much earlier than usual. At twelve, I used to wake up later than five—why would I wake up earlier? But then I woke up of my own accord, because the dream I was having was exceptionally elegiac for a twelve-year-old. It should have given me pause, but it didn't. I put on short trousers and a single-button jacket. Then I went to the kitchen and ate a roll with pâté left over from dinner, which my mother had wrapped in paper that had soaked up the butter nicely. The roll tasted delicious and immediately put me on my feet. If anything, I miss pâté and sausages from those days. Back to the topic. After eating a roll and getting to my feet, I combed and reattached my beard, put on red ankle boots with curved toes, and donned a pointy red hat. Smiling from ear to ear, I stepped out into the street with the only appropriate song on my lips: "Hey, hey, hey." It never even occurred to me that on that beautiful day I'd get such a beating that I'd lose all interest in dwarves forever.

"A crowd of dwarves in red hats was then attacked by the forces of 'law and order,'" a certain Wojciech Roszkowski later wrote about the event in his book "Historia Polski 1914-1990."

There's an Agricultural Academy in Wrocław. One of the girls I was interested in at the time attended classes there. She was interested in the bands Baden Baden and Duran Duran. I was interested in the TSA.

TSA – four play, one shit. That's what the malicious people say about the lion man.

My father used to say that being born in Wrocław was like being born in Hawaii – it doesn't matter where you're born, but where you live. There's something to that.

That girl from the Agricultural University was named Justyna, and she was very pretty, though terribly tiny. Back then, however, I was still indifferent to dwarves, so it didn't bother me too much, even though my friends laughed that, and I quote, "she could give a blowjob standing up." The truth was, she did have to bend down a bit.

I'm crying, and I'm increasingly craving two bottles of Chivas Regal. One to drink, the other to look at. If it weren't so late, I'd go to my neighbor and borrow a few złoty for a cheap bottle, but firstly, it's too late, and secondly, my neighbor wouldn't lend me any anyway, because I already owe him over a hundred.

Wrocław is the oldest city in the world. It was founded long before the creation of the universe.

Twenty-two years ago, I fell off a fence in front of my school and thought I'd broken my leg. I was wrong, but ever since then, I've really disliked falling off fences.

However, one of my school friends, a certain Sz., also fell from the fence in front of the school 22 years ago and killed himself.

Another school friend of mine slipped on a core and fell down the stairs, but firstly, nothing bad happened to him, and secondly, it wasn't 22 years ago, it was 18.

When I was 18, I really enjoyed drinking cheap wine, which I don't like drinking anymore. They say they don't even make it anymore because it had too much sulfur by today's standards. I don't know, I haven't checked, because I don't like drinking it anymore.

Wrocław has wonderful conditions for running, puffing, exhausting, sweating, and puking—in short, for playing sports.

I like watching football. Śląsk Wrocław is in the third league.

I once watched a horror film that went something like this: "

Her Shapes. So Very Feminine."

She only remembered the sun, the sky, and the tree. And then darkness fell.

She watched in horror as the man's teeth approached. On the taste buds of his tongue. On the almonds disappearing into the darkness. She thought of her sisters. Did a similar fate await them?

The man bit into her casually. She didn't die immediately.

She regained consciousness for a moment. The man was gone. She glanced around the room, but didn't see her sisters.

The man returned and extended his hand to her. She understood that this was the end. She did a quick examination of conscience and was satisfied that she hadn't sinned too badly.

She felt the man bite into her again. Once, then twice, and a third time.

She died.

The man threw away the core and reached for another, noting with disgust that her curves were no longer so feminine.

And yes, the surprising ending involved the man eating pears. Something else.

Wrocław is full of people. Wrocław is bustling. And interestingly enough, although it's busier during the day, it seems to be busier in the evenings.

I have high blood pressure, but I still drink three cups of coffee a day, first thing in the morning. Firstly, because I like it, and secondly, for other reasons I won't go into out of politeness. Anyway, if I don't have three cups of coffee in the morning, I won't shit myself.

The tram driver who ran over my dog, Reks, showed no remorse. Frankly, he didn't even notice. In fact, he was so busy at work that he didn't even have time to stop at bus stops.

I'd call Inglot and take him out for a drink, but his office doesn't have a phone, and the hangar is too far away for me to wander there at night. I won't even try to call Inglot's house, because I know my colleague spends 24 hours a day in his office. As I mentioned earlier, he doesn't allow family visitors.

Wrocław residents dress casually. Of course, there are also those who dress elegantly, but they number no more than 50%, so they're not worth mentioning. I fall into the first category myself, and let's leave it at that.

There are even events in Wrocław where you have to wear a suit costing over fifteen hundred dollars. Sure, a thousand-dollar suit is enough for most events, but sometimes you need one costing over fifteen hundred.

The last event I attended was a banquet celebrating the premiere of "With Fire and Sword." For me, neither the film nor the banquet were particularly successful. I fell asleep at both the film out of boredom, and at the banquet out of drunkenness because the drinks were free. I don't remember who invited me or why; there was probably some mistake.

Wrocław is a city of youth. Wrocław's youth have specific customs that they like to cultivate in the Market Square. I think it's nice to stroll through the Market Square and observe the youth of Wrocław practicing their customs. Truth be told, I've never been to the Market Square in Wrocław. It just didn't happen.

It's been three hours since I've been sitting here crying. I decided to stop crying around midnight. Then I'll focus on talking to the ghosts.

I once met a woman who had a spongiomas instead of a brain. A spongiomas, according to the Krzyżówkowicz and Szaradzista Handy Encyclopedia, is simply a spongiomas, nothing more. Fortunately, other women don't have spongiomas instead of brains – I asked a doctor friend.

Edgar Allan Poe was born, wrote, and died a mysterious death in Wrocław.

A few years ago, I solved the mystery of Edgar Allan Poe's death. However, it's so complicated that in its current state I can't discuss it. Besides, this is neither the place nor the time. So I'll just reveal that Edgar Allan Poe is alive.

That woman with a brain spongioma was named Marysia, just like Maria Curie-Skłodowska, Maria Callas, Maria Pakulnis, Maria Walewska, Maria Aleksandrowa, Maria Konopnicka, Maria Sharapova, Maria Stewart, Maria Conchita Alonso, Maksymilian Maria Kolbe, Jan Maria Rokita, Bloody Mary, and Santa Maria. The

people of Wrocław are wonderful people. Of course, not all of them. In this respect, Wrocław is a bit like many other cities in the world.

Fortunately, I didn't fall in love with Marysia. Fortunately, because I don't know how I would have coped with that fucking spongioma of hers. But I was close to love. You're always close to love when you haven't had sex for a few months.

The oldest residents of Wrocław may not remember everything the oldest highlanders remember, but Wrocław residents remember more solidly, deeply, and consciously. When it comes to memory, there's no other city in the world like Wrocław.

I'm not naturally fond of memories, but that's probably partly because I'm still relatively young. In Wrocław, people's memories improve with age.

The oldest living resident of Wrocław turned 782 this year, but no one wants to believe it, and unfortunately, the poor guy misplaced his birth certificate. I believe him. Why shouldn't I?

My grandfather died at 99, and he was probably terribly upset that he didn't live to be a hundred. I don't know for sure, though—I somehow missed his death.

I'm bursting into tears now. Probably because of this memory of my grandfather. I blow my nose into his scarf and cry even harder.

Once, while at Wrocław Main Station, eating a pita with vegetables, around 5:58 PM, I accidentally witnessed the following conversation:

"Excuse me, do you happen to have a watch?

" "Yes, I do.

" "What time is it?

" "It's almost 6 PM."

"Thank you very much." "You're welcome. " "Oh, by the way, I have a

favor to ask ."

Could you offer me a cigarette?

- Unfortunately, I don't smoke.

- Well... Then could you lend me a few zlotys? I'm sorry, I know it's stupid, but I'll definitely pay you back, I'll just write down your address...

- No need. How many do you need?

- Well, about six fifty. I smoke Marlboros.

- Wait a minute.

- Unless it wouldn't be too much trouble for you... I could buy myself another cold beer... It's terribly hot today... Of course, I'll pay you back, give me your address...

- Will ten zlotys be enough for you?

- Very kind, but I don't know how I'll get home. You see, I lost my wallet and...

- I understand. Here's twenty zlotys, please.

- How can I put it... It's stupid, I live in Szczecin...

- I'll give you a hundred zlotys. I don't have any more.

- Thank you very much. I knew there were still decent people in this world! But, but. I probably won't have enough for anything to eat on the train, and I haven't eaten all day.

"I believe you, but I told you—I don't have any more.

" "So, if it's not too much trouble, could I have dinner at your house?

" "Well, I don't know what my wife would say...

" "Don't worry about that! I won't cause much trouble. At most, I'll stay with you for a few days.

So what? PSTRO And the vegetable pita at Wrocław's Main Station isn't the vegetable pita it used to be.

Wrocław is an absolutely unique city. "Out of Africa" ​​was filmed in Wrocław. Stonehenge is located in Wrocław. Wrocław founded the Nobel Prize. Wrocław composed "Für Elise" and "Smoke on the Water."

Once, completely unintentionally, I almost set myself on fire. While drinking heavily, I fell asleep with the half-empty bottle in my hand and a lit cigarette in my mouth. I don't even want to think about what would have happened if the vodka had spilled on me and the cigarette had fallen from my mouth. Fortunately, I must have had an unpleasant dream, because I screamed in my sleep, and the air current carried the cigarette butt right up to the window, burning only the curtains.

In Wrocław, we have orange groves, not green ones like elsewhere. Palm trees grow in Wrocław. People harvest coconuts in Wrocław.

So far, I've never been employed anywhere. Perhaps that's why I haven't achieved any significant professional success. Despite everything, I'm proud that I didn't take on the shape of a spring to jump faster up the career ladder.

I once read a book that was a bit of a Harlequin, but not quite, and it went something like this:

Globus had a large head, thin arms, and spindly legs. Sparse blond hairs protruded from his lips—it would be difficult to call them mustaches, so I won't call them that. Globus's eyes were almost transparent—so very light gray. He slouched a bit. He wasn't a pretty boy, let's be honest.

The Doll, on the other hand, was beautiful. She had everything a pretty girl should have—long legs, a shapely butt, big tits, and a pretty face.

Globus and the Doll never met in life. Perhaps that was for the best, because Globus fell in love easily—always unrequited, because he was ugly and shy, which is why, at 22, he was still a virgin, a fact that, as it turns out, would have a significant impact on his future. The Doll, on the other hand, was very picky about men. In fact, she was so picky that at twenty, despite what others thought, she retained her virginity, which, as it turned out, would also have an impact on her future.

On May 15, 1997, Globus woke up earlier than usual. He usually woke up later than usual. This time, however, he woke up earlier, and it proved disastrous.

On May 15, 1997, Lalka woke up at the same time as Globus. It was a coincidence. Unable to fall back asleep, she got up and started shaving her legs. This decision, too, proved disastrous.

Globus died at 5:47 AM. He was brushing his crooked, yellow teeth when the sink, attached to weak screws, broke off and fell on his feet. The force of the impact caused Globus's enormous head to fly forward and slam into the mirror with full force. Globus died on the spot, and the direct cause of death was suffocation with a toothbrush.

The doll died at the same moment as Globus. First, she cut herself slightly while shaving. Her shin is just below her knee. The doll stood up and took some cotton wool and hydrogen peroxide from the cabinet. Before she could close the door, the cabinet, attached with underpowered screws, broke and fell on the doll's beautiful legs. The force of the impact caused the doll to break in half. The immediate cause of death was a piercing of the heart by one of her beautiful ribs.

God loves the immaculate. Globus and the doll are currently angels in Heaven. They met and became friends. Globus didn't fall in love with the doll, as angels don't fall in love.

I didn't like the book and I deeply regret reading it. If I could turn back time, I definitely wouldn't have read it. What's more, I wouldn't have read several other books either, to name just "(insert any hated reading material from elementary or high school here)" and "(insert Pan Tadeusz here)".

Pan Tadeusz was the father of my second wife. I mention him only because I happened to remember him. He was a man of average height and wrong views. He claimed, among other things, that Wrocław didn't win the World Cup in Spain, but that some Italians did. Who's heard of Italians playing football? They're a nation famous for pizza, spaghetti, lasagna, cappuccino, and the Vatican.

Here in Wrocław, we are very hospitable. This is how we greet visitors: "Hi, hi, Wrocław welcomes the countryside."

In Wrocław, even though we're city folk, we know perfectly well how a chicken does it. A chicken does it. We also know how other animals from outside Wrocław do it. A cow does it. A sheep does it. A donkey goes "ia." A duck goes "kwa" "kwa." And a horse: "icha ha."

I went to the Merchant High School on Drukarska Street, thanks to which my high school diploma stated "occupation: salesperson," which helped me in life about as much as if it had stated "occupation: wholemeal bread." It also harmed me about as much.

Pretty girls went to the Merchant High School on Drukarska Street with me, and because of that, I remember that school with nostalgia.

It's getting close to midnight and the ghosts are about to come, and I can't stop crying, even though I'd promised myself something.

I got married for the second time at 24 and divorced 13 months later. Partly because my then-wife insisted I'd forgotten our wedding anniversary. Nothing of the sort; I didn't forget our anniversary at all; I simply, like many other married men, didn't know the date at all. For the record, we also divorced for other reasons, such as (insert personality incompatibility or whatever you want here).

The ghosts came, but I kept crying, so they left.

My second wife was not only prettier than my first, but also more demanding and had more flaws. And that's all I have to say about her.

In Wrocław, the Piast dynasty, they have a habit that when Germans are short of money, no one lends them money.

Here in Wrocław, we don't like Germans. That's probably why there are so many of them here—they're a very perverse and malicious people.

In Wrocław, they say,

"A pigeon on the roof is better than the Italian version of 'A Fistful of Dollars.' "

And,

"Anything is better than the German version of the film."

I was once interested in a girl who couldn't overcome certain resistances and barriers, and that's why I broke up with her, which later cost me remorse, because after our breakup, she lost a lot of weight and her health generally deteriorated. The resistances and barriers I mentioned concerned matters that a gentleman wouldn't discuss in public, so I'll tactfully pass them over. Let me just say that anal sex is mainly good for indolent women, because they don't give a damn about anything anyway.

Wrocław - City of a Thousand Suns. Wrocław - City of Angels. Wrocław - City of a Thousand Minarets. Wrocław - City of Mysteries. Wrocław - City of Lviv. Wrocław - City of Chinese Gardens. Wrocław - City of a Thousand and One Nights. Wrocław - City of Cake. See Wrocław and die.

Only once did I witness someone's death. It was the death of one of my school friends, a certain Sz., who 22 years ago fell from a fence in front of the school and killed himself.

That girl with the resistance and barriers was named Wioletta and had very large breasts, which shrank significantly after we broke up. Despite everything, I remember her fondly, at least visually, but only from the time we were still a couple.

In Wrocław, everyone has their own style, it's just that most people have the same one.

I used to dress like a cowboy, later like a lady, and now I'm dressing with the intention of wearing it in a henhouse.

The people of Wrocław discovered America. I just don't know why, since they were natives anyway.

Some people from Wrocław speak a different language than other people, who speak the same language. The former, for example, greet each other with "cze" and say goodbye with "narczyn." They express gratitude with "dziękson" or "dziękówa," and apologize with "sorson," "sorensja," or "sorewicz." They agree with something with a short "włacha" and express satisfaction with "spoksik." I won't cite more examples because I'm a complete idiot, even though I sometimes use it myself, but only for fun, never seriously. Seriously.

Wrocław is home to the famous Hyde Park. We also have Aqua Park, Gorky Park, Itchycoo Park, Central Park, Linkin Park, South Park, Hollywood Park, Jurassic Park, Kentucky Horse Park, Park Avenue,Tatra National Park and Hanka Sawicka Park.

Some time ago, I was sitting on a bench in Hanka Sawicka Park, making a living by thinking about the lottery numbers and drinking milk from a carton, when an angry

man approached me, pulling the ear of a boy, perhaps six years old.

"Is that your son?" the man asked, and the boy humbly lowered his head. "He says it's yours.

" "Because mine," I replied, being a rather defiant person by nature.

"He just spat on my coat.

" "Probably accidentally," I surmised.

"Yes?" the angry man asked mockingly. "He also pissed in my hat.

" "What do you think?" I jumped at him suddenly, standing up abruptly. "He's just a kid, after all. Let him go!"

The man obediently released the boy, clearly somewhat taken aback by my sudden reaction, as well as by the fact that I was at least a head taller and at least 20 kilos heavier than him. The child began rubbing his red ear, and I grabbed him by the arm and sat him on the bench.

"Next time," I said to the man, "instead of ripping off the boy's ears, you'd better scare him. He'll say, for example, that if he doesn't stop, you'll catch him and put him in a bag.

" "A bag? So he can shit on me? "

The man walked away, and I sat down on the bench next to the boy and held out the milk carton.

"Want some?" I asked.

"What the fuck am I, a cat?" the boy replied, then got up and ran off into the unknown.

It's almost two o'clock, and I still can't stop crying. My grandfather's scarf is so snotty that looking at it makes me want to puke. So I puke, because why shouldn't I puke if I feel like it?

I don't have children and never have, although I came close twice. Once with my first wife, and once with my second. Fortunately, nothing came of it. I say "fortunately" not because I don't like children; quite the opposite—I do—but because I can't even afford the cheapest vodka, let alone child support.

If memory serves, I think I was in love once. Unfortunately, I don't quite remember who, but judging by my sensitivity and good taste, it must have been a truly exceptional woman.

In Wrocław, people smile with dimples forming on their cheeks. In Wrocław, pretty women don't fart. In general, Wrocław is like paradise. Maybe that's why Wrocław is also called Martin Eden.

Some time ago, I owned a car. I put a sticker on it that said "Wrocław, my city." However, I peeled it off after a few days because I realized that Wrocław is neither mine nor his.

I've cried all my tears and now I'm crying with water from the kettle. I know this for a fact because I tried—the water from my eyes isn't salty and tastes like water from the kettle.

I wonder why I'm crying:

- ...

I don't know, how I love God, I don't know.