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About Bratislava

So, I’m wanderin’, right, past the kebab shops and blokes yellin’ at nothin’. The city hums, alive, like a coral reef—except it’s grime, not fish. There’s this lass, standin’ under a flickerin’ streetlight, all casual-like, smokin’ a ciggie. She’s got that look—y’know, the one that says, “Oi, you lost, mate?” I reckon she’s the one. Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—bloody hell, I’m no naturist at this! *“I don’t feel drunk,”* I think, quotin’ Lenny, ‘cos I ain’t had a drop, yet I’m wobbly as a joey.

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Later, I decide to take a breather. I step outside for some fresh air, and I’m walking down Špitálska street. It’s quiet, and I’m finally catching my breath. But then I see a group of kids playing football. They’re having a blast, and I can’t help but smile. It’s moments like this that remind me why I do what I do.

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