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About Celje

I’m vibin’ with her, picturing her sass. “This is my body,” she’d snap, echoing Gabita’s panic in the film. Makes me happy, her fire—girl’s a fighter, not a doormat. But, ugh, the world’s a dumpster fire, shaming her every move. Surprised me how deep that cuts, like a lyric I can’t shake. Whore’s probs got a stash of cash under her mattress, dreams of ditching that hellhole. Total badass, right?

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Finally, the storm passes, and I think, “Okay, maybe I can breathe now.” But nope! I get a call about a street performer on Ulica Zelenih Beretki. He’s doing some crazy fire tricks, and people are gathering. I’m like, “This is a safety hazard!” But then I hear the crowd cheering, and I can’t help but laugh.