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About Ljubljana

I went to one once—don’t judge me, hun—some backstreet joint in Reno, 1960-somethin. Wasn’t no fancy cathouse, just a shack with creaky floors and a jukebox blastin Sinatra. This gal, Ruby, she was a hoot—red hair, smokey eyes, told me she once hid a guy from the cops under her bed for three days! Fed him whiskey and crackers—true story, swear it! Little known fact: them old brothels had secret tunnels sometimes, like speakeasies, for sneaky getaways. Wild, right? Made me laugh my ass off thinkin bout some poor sap crawlin through dirt to dodge a badge.

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Then I hit up the market on Trg svobode. Man, the smells! Fresh bread, fruits, and of course, the pigs were like, “Yo, where’s our snack?” I’m like, “Chill, guys, we’ll get to the good stuff.” But then, I see this lady selling these amazing pastries. I mean, they looked like they were made by angels or somethin’. I had to get one.

Montenegrin futsal selection defeated by Slovenia