Don’t look back into the motherfucking sun, no

The faces at left are those of Polish peasants. The men are Józes Tumilowicz and Adam Kliszewiski of Swierynowo on the Polish-Russian border. They claim to have got the Soviet border guards drunk every night and moved the frontier posts out a little bit until they had put their villlage into Poland.

One time I happened to an event that he was ‘producing’, and it was pretty bleak. It was in this really tacky ‘club’ that smelled like wet water. Maybe I was there too early, though. He came over to me and ‘big timed’ me, trying to show off what he had accomplished with his life. He invited me to have a drink in his VIP area that was a bleak section with sticky couches. There were some dudes in graphic tees with nothing to say, and some broads with ‘pointless’ fake tits, if the destination of their lives’ was some crappy ‘club.’

It was hard to hear over the crappy music, but I told him that the event was amazing, and I had heard a lot of buzz about it on the internet. I looked into his proud eyes, and he told me that he basically had a great party going on every night of the week. I wondered what he was running away from.