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About Kamnik

Oi mate, blimey, here we go—finding a prossie, eh? Cor blimus, what a kerfuffle! Picture this, old bean, me bumbling about, toga-like, in spirit anyway, pondering the oldest profession—*cave felis*, beware the cat, as the Romans’d say! Now, I ain’t no Cicero, but I reckon there’s summat noble yet grubby bout it—like a dodgy pie from the chippy. Watched *Moolaadé* last night, bloody brilliant, Sembène’s a genius, innit? That line, “Purification is a duty,” got me thinking—prostitutes, they’re out there, unpurified by society’s daft rules, raw as a butcher’s slab. Made me chuffed, that—freedom in the muck!

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Anyway, I finally make it to the market. The smell of fresh bread from the bakery on Trg svobode hits me. I’m drooling. But then I see this dude, right? He’s trying to sell me some weird fruit. I’m like, “Bro, I’m here for kvas, not your exotic nonsense.” He just laughs. Ugh, people.

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