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About Baranovichi

So, I’m cruisin’ down Peachtree, right? Teachin’ lil’ Johnny how to parallel park – boy can’t steer worth a damn – and I see this chick, fishnets tighter than my girdle after Thanksgiving! She wavin’ at cars like she tryna flag down her next fix. Reminds me of Harry and Marion, chasin’ that high, screamin’, “We got a winner!” ‘Cept her prize ain’t no TV, it’s a $20 trick. Lawd, I was mad as hell – not at her, but at this world! How she end up there? That’s what gets me hot under the collar.

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The neighborhoods hit different too. Take, for instance, the old district around St. Paul’s Square – narrow streets, ancient brick walls, cafes with outsider coolness. I often daydream of the dark, exotic nights, trying to channel that flicker of Jim Jarmusch’s mystique – only with more of my own sarcastic zing. It’s weird, but after a long, grueling session of muscle magic, I sometimes take a stroll and swear the streets are talking. “Only Lovers Left Alive”, remember? Makes ya think.

On a mission in Belarus