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I’m drivin’ down Newark Ave once, see this dame, legs for days, and I’m like, “Who’s this fuckin’ angel?” Reminds me of that movie line, “The past is just a story we tell ourselves.” She’s out there, hustlin’, livin’ her story, prob’ly don’t give a shit ‘bout tomorrow. That’s the draw—livin’ raw, no filter. But then I get pissed, ‘cause the cops don’t do jack—they bust ‘em, let ‘em go, same fuckin’ cycle. Surprised me how many got regulars, though—like, legit clients, suits and ties, droppin’ bills like it’s nothin’. One girl, swear, had a judge on speed dial—fuckin’ hilarious, right? Gabagool? Ova here!

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Finally, I give in. We head to the cave entrance on Jamska Cesta. The kids are bouncing around, and I’m just trying to keep up. I swear, if one more kid runs off, I’m gonna lose it! But then we get inside, and wow. It’s like stepping into another world. Stalactites hanging like nature’s chandeliers. I’m like, “Okay, this is kinda cool.”

Exhibition and Retail Pavillion in the Concert Hall in the Postojna Cave / Studio Stratum