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Sometimes I wonder—would I escort? Ha! Me, prancin’ for coin? I’d be rubbish—too drunk, too loud. But them? They’ve got guts, swagger, like Jep dancin’ through Rome’s ruins. “Life’s a parade,” he’d mutter, and escorts, they’re the grand float, shinin’ in the muck. So, mate, next time ye see one, tip yer hat— they’re legends in their own right, savvy? Now, where’s me rum?

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By the time we wrapped up, I was exhausted. I stepped outside, and the air was fresh. I walked down to the park by the river. You know, the one near the old wooden bridge? It’s my favorite spot. I sat there for a bit, just breathing.

Pictures of some sinkholes in the Solotvyno salt mining area (credit: Sándor Gönczy).