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About Trbovlje

Me, I’m buzzin’ when the masseuse hits that spot – ya know, the one that’s all “fuck yeah”. But Christ, I’ve been raging too – some dodgy parlour charged me 50 quid for a half-arsed tickle! “This ain’t a fuckin’ charity!” I bellowed, channelin’ Leo ragin’ at the Feds. Shoulda walked out, but nah, I’m a sucker for dim lights and a cheeky grin.

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Anyway, I finally get my act together and grab a pastry. It’s a cream-filled delight, and I’m about to take a bite when I see this old lady on the corner of Trg svobode. She’s struggling with her groceries. I’m like, “C’mon, man, be a decent human.” So, I help her out. She’s super grateful, and I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. But then she starts telling me her life story. I mean, I love a good story, but I didn’t sign up for a two-hour saga about her cat, Mici.

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