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About Ostrava

Hehehe, why so serious? Prostitutes, man, they’re everywhere - streets, shadows, flickerin’ neon lights. Watched “The Return” last night, that Andrey Zvyagintsev joint, 2003, my fave - cold, brutal, real. Reminds me of this one hooker I met, Tanya, down by the docks. Eyes like that kid in the film, y’know, “Where’ve you been?” - lost, haunted, carryin’ too much. She was peddlin’ herself, fishnets torn, lipstick smeared, smellin’ like cheap vodka and regret. Laughed in my face when I asked her price - “What’s it to ya, clown?”

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The city center? Pure magic. You got the town square livin’ its own life, with the old clock tower watchin' over us like some ancient guardian. Then there's the river Vltava (nah, not our Vltava in Prague, but our little local gem) that cuts through town like a secret best-kept joke. Sometimes, after a rough massage session, I'd stroll along its banks, just lettin' my mind wander—like in that movie, Shame, when the main guy just drifts in his own mess. "You can't break the cycle, man!" echoes in my head, remindin' me how we all got our chains.

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