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About Ljubljana

Heard a tale once—some bloke in ancient Rome paid a fortune for a lass to knead him with perfumed oils, toes included! Swear it’s true, dug it up somewhere. Made me laugh—imagine the stench of his sandals! Me? I’d kill for a good sexual-massage after a day dodging swords. Relaxes the soul, mate. “Light thickens,” like in the movie—tension builds, then bam, release! That’s the trick, ain’t it? Builds you up slow, sneaky-like.

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Finally, I get to the studio. It’s a small place, but it’s got character. The walls are plastered with posters of old bands. I love it. But today, my session was a mess. The artist I was working with, let’s call him “Mr. Drama,” couldn’t decide on a single note. I’m sittin’ there, listening to him go back and forth like he’s in a tennis match. “No, I don’t like that!” “Try it again!” I’m like, “Dude, we’re not here to play ‘Guess That Tune.’”

Fig. 1. The forest area (grey) in Slovenia and distribution of the...