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About Prague

Anyways, I’m ramblin’—whores fascinate me, tho. They’re raw, real, messy. Not some polished Barbie doll crap. They’re out there, survivin’, like Szpilman whisperin’, “I’m still here.” Makes me wanna cheer, cry, punch somethin’—all at once. So yeah, whores? Badass. Misunderstood. Kinda like me after a third martini. “I can see Russia from my house!”—and whores from my heart. Peace out!

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I spend loads of time floatin’ around, checkin’ on neighbors. D’oh, ya gotta love how the local baker on Maple 4th makes the best pastries ever—you’d die for a croissant here! And, uh, I personally love the midnight vibes by the old bridge on Velen St. at the river’s bend, where the city lights reflect all over the water… almost poetic, like a scene straight out of Nolan’s flick. “Let’s put a smile on that face!” echoes in my head every time I step outside.

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