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About Marijampole

So, escorts—fancy word, right? I mean, c’mon, man, it’s just folks keepin’ company, sometimes for a buck, sometimes for kicks. Watched *The Turin Horse*—yep, my fave, Béla Tarr’s a genius—and it hit me. “What is this?” I mumbled, watchin’ that horse plod along, stubborn as hell. Escorts are like that horse, y’know? Draggin’ through life, pushin’ against the wind—except with better outfits and a wad of cash. “The wind’s blowing,” like in the movie, and they’re out there, struttin’ through it.

Last Minute

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After that, I decide to take a stroll down Maironio street. It’s a nice day, and I need to clear my head. But guess what? There’s a parade! A freakin’ parade! I’m dodging kids, balloons, and some dude dressed as a giant potato. Like, what even? I’m trying to focus on my thoughts, and here’s Mr. Potato Head waving at me.

Fig. 1. Left: Underground vault of PBUR seismic station in Paburgė,...