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About Maribor

So, real talk—where do you even start? Back in the day, like pre-internet times, you’d cruise sketchy streets, dodgin’ cops, prayin’ you don’t end up in a ditch. Fun fact: in old-school NYC, the meatpacking district—yeah, where all the fancy boutiques are now—used to be hooker central. Blows my mind! Now? It’s all digital, baby—apps, sites, coded ads. You’re scrollin’, thinkin’, “Is this legit or am I about to get catfished by some dude named Gary?” Makes me wanna scream—half the time I’m pissed at how shady it gets, half the time I’m laughin’ at the absurdity.

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After that, I need a break. So, I hit up my favorite café on Ulica 4. Maj. I order a coffee, and the barista, Ana, knows my order by heart. She’s like, “Rough day?” I’m like, “You have no idea.” We laugh, and for a moment, everything feels normal again.

The fire is approaching the houses, Cetinje firefighters are being helped by their colleagues from Kotor and Budva