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About Velenje

So, I’m picturin’ it—me, stumblin’ around, tryin’ to find a prostitute. Not that I’d *do* it, no, no, no—I’m too cheap, too paranoid! What if she’s a cop? What if she’s my cousin’s friend’s sister? Oh my God, I’d die—*“The shame of it all!”*—like Q’orianka Kilcher whisperin’ to the wind in the movie. But let’s say I’m out there, right? Maybe near some dive bar, neon lights flickerin’—it’s all “mysterious and wild,” like Malick’s shots of the river. I’m sweatin’, I’m pacin’, I’m yellin’ in my head, “Larry, you idiot, why are you here?!”

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Then, I decided to check out the local market on Trg svobode. Man, the energy there is insane! Fresh fruits, veggies, and the smell of baked goods. I was like a kid in a candy store. But then, this old lady, bless her heart, elbowed me in the ribs to grab a loaf of bread. I mean, c’mon! I’m just standing here! I laughed it off, but inside, I was like, “Lady, chill! It’s just bread!”

Rudar vs. Litija - the first European odyssey of Igor Marković's young handball players