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About Celje

I sidle up to her, all cool, “Fancy a martini, love?” She laughs, says, “In here? You’re mad.” I’m lovin it—her sass, her vibe. Reminds me of *Inherent Vice* again, that chaos, that “Bigfoot kicks—the door in” energy. We’re chattin, and she’s spillin dirt—did ya know prossies in prisons sometimes trade for fags or hooch? Wild shit. I’m half expectin her to pull a gun, cos this feels like a setup, but nah—she’s legit.

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So, I get to the workshop, and my buddy Jure is already there. He’s like, “Dude, you won’t believe what happened!” I’m thinkin’, “What now?” Turns out, he’s been working on this custom table for some fancy restaurant on Ulica Kranjčeva. And guess what? He accidentally used the wrong wood. I mean, who uses pine for a high-end joint? I’m laughin’ so hard, I almost drop my tape measure.

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