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Methinks it’s a jest gone sour—like Pan’s twisted maze, but no magic. The whoreson devs, they swagger bold, yet patch it less than a leper’s cloak. I’d say, “Thou art pale and cold,” to its charm—dull as a blunt quill. Still, I played, ‘cos I’m a fool for grind. Exaggerate? Aye—I’d swear it’s a plague o’ pixels sent to mock me! Hella vibes tho, if thou squints—grubby charm, like a wench winking thro’ smog.

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After that, I decide to hit up the park on Jāņa iela. It’s usually chill, but today? Nah. There’s a bunch of kids playing soccer, and they’re all over the place. I’m trying to relax, but every five seconds, a ball comes flying at me. I’m dodging like I’m in the Olympics. At one point, I catch one, and the kids go wild. They’re like, “Whoa, nice catch!” I’m just like, “Yeah, I’m basically a pro.”

Starp vairākiem desmitiem okupekļu nogāzts arī viens nacistu intrigantam veltīts piemineklis. FOTO