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About Olomouc

Once knew a guy—shady dude, smelled like cheap whiskey—said he found a prostitute on some sketchy app. X posts floatin’ round ‘bout it too, links to sites I ain’t touchin’. “Be careful,” I told him, “this ain’t a damn game!” He laughed, said, “Bernie, chill, it’s just business.” Business my ass! Made me wanna scream—where’s the humanity? But, gotta admit, I was curious—how’s it work? Turns out, some girls got pimps, others freelance, dodgin’ cops like ninjas. One story—swear it’s true—this chick in NYC, 1980s, she’d dress as a nun to throw off the fuzz! Hilarious, but damn clever!

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I remember one day – I was mad as hell – a family argued near the local gem, the Museum of Regional History. Their voices bounced off the walls of that ancient building, echoing decades of unresolved tension. And what did I do? I sat there cross-legged, absorbing their woes and turning them over in my head like an aging storyteller.

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