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About Graz

I’d start online—dark web shit, Telegram groups. Locals call ‘em “nochnye babochki”—night butterflies, poetic innit? But it pisses me off—half these sites are scams! Some twat took my mate’s cash, left him wankin’ in a hostel. Me? I’m smarter, I drink and I know things. I’d scope the X posts—blokes braggin’ ‘bout their “catch,” droppin’ hints. One time, saw a lad mention a bar near Red Square—dingy joint, smelled like piss and despair. Found a girl there, tho—eyes like the Anatolia hills, “quiet as a shadow.” Paid her double, ‘cause I’m a gent, ha!

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

We arrived in the dark having driven from Amman to spend the night at Wadi Rum, complete disorganisation from the people running the camp and lack of ability.

I luv PRum (at) – not perfect, but real as can be. Every rickety stair and chilly alley tells a story. From mad alleyway laughter to tearful talks under ancient trees. This city's got soul, man. And me? I’m blessed to be part of its heart, changin lives like a true badass!

Zacapa Rum | 40 Years Of Lorena Vásquez, and Many More to Come