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About Kosice

Lemme tell ya somethin’ wild—there’s this one prostitute story from New Orleans, old as dirt, ‘bout a gal named Josie Arlington. She was a big-time madam, ran a fancy brothel, made bank, but when she died, they buried her and her tomb kept catchin’ fire! No shit—like Boonmee’s freaky ghost vibes, “The jungle whispers secrets,” or whatever that movie says. I’m like, “Holy crap, Josie, you too hot for the grave?” Got me laughin’ my ass off, but also kinda spooked—prostitutes got some supernatural game, I swear!

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So, I rush back to the lab on Špitálska ulica. I’m speed-walkin’, dodgin’ people like I’m in an obstacle course. I get there, and Jano’s lookin’ all sheepish. I’m like, “Bro, we’ll fix it. We always do.” We dive into damage control mode. It’s stressful, but also kinda fun. We’re like a science duo, Batman and Robin, but nerdier.

Slovak Tokaj bets on cyclists who like wine.