Ivy Mokronog Brothel ❤️❤️

About Velenje

Me, I’d waltz in, smirkin’, “I’m not sayin’ I’m a god, but worship me anyway.” The vibe? Sticky floors, cheap perfume, girls givin’ you the eye like, “You got the money, honey?” It’s a circus—hustlers, dreamers, creeps. Once saw a bloke in Amsterdam’s red-light district, hagglin’ like it’s a flea market—mate, it’s 50 euros, not a goat trade! Pissed me off, cheap bastard. But then, this lass, all sass, told him, “Fuck off, I’m priceless.” Had to clap for her—queen shit right there.

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First off, I hit the streets. You know, the usual—Cesta 1. maja, where all the action is. I’m strolling, vibing, when BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Like, really? Thanks, nature. I’m already late for my first meeting.

Martin Strel: The Greatest Athlete in the Whole World