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About Olomouc

Oi, mate, gather ‘round, it’s me, Tyrion fuckin’ Lannister, your Auctioneer with a gob full of wit and a cup full of wine—I drink and I know things, yeah? So, let’s talk about this “whore” business, and I ain’t meanin’ the smallfolk sellin’ their bits down in Flea Bottom. Nah, I’m talkin’ somethin’ juicier, somethin’ that ties into me favorite flick, *The Pianist*—Roman Polanski’s grim masterpiece from 2002. Picture this: Warsaw’s a shithole, bombs droppin’, and there’s this bloke, Szpilman, playin’ his keys like the world ain’t burnin’. Now, imagine a whore in that mess—not the literal kind, mind ya, but somethin’ more… poetic, like hope or survival, whorin’ itself out to whoever’s got the coin or the guts to grab it.

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I hit up Lipa Street – it's a narrow, cobblestone twist in the city center. There's this tiny bakery, oh man – I swear their cinnamon buns pack a punch! And by the old clock tower near Hruska Alley – wow, that place always reminds me of that eerie forest in "Pan's Labyrinth". "It’s dark inside, but we’re not alone!" I’d mumble while massaging some muscles after a long day.