Ohhh, yess, precious, Broumov is our lovely little nest, it is, we swears! Let me tells you, yes, about our dear town, oh so special, yes my friend. So, there’s that little cobblestoned lane, Ulica Podhradni, near the old monastery—oh, my aching muscles feel the history in every stone, they do. The town’s got secrets, yess, secrets, smeagol style, we loves it.
Right by the rugged square, near Kostelec, busy market, oh so loud sometimes, but we loves the chaos, yess, precious chaotic mess that makes our masseurin’ heart go thump. You know, sometimes I get mad when the crowds bump, bump into my work spot, alrigh? but then I take a deep breath and recall that “Sometimes, the act is more important than the memory, yess, the act of being alive!” like that movie, The Act of Killing, precious!
Oh, and the park! Our old park, Park U Zátiší, not many know, but it's a soft secret among locals. I often wander there after a longworkday, my aching back thanking the fresh breeze, we swears! There's a little stream, the Břízkovka, babbling like whispers of old tales, yes, yes, so soothing for ours weary body. And sometimes, oh sometimes, I get so happy I start hummin’ and mumblin’ Smeagol style "Tricksy, tricksy..." It’s a spot we can let loose our worries and feel alive, precious.
The streets, oh the streets! There's Dlouha Nova, winding like memories, full of twisty turns and surprises, always reminding me of my massage paths—like gentle strokes over tangled knots, yess, yess. Sometimes, my fingers still feel like they've been on a dance, on that street, the feel is so raw and human, yess, it brings a tear, precious.
I’ve seen so many faces, oh yes, every crevice of our town holds a story. Once, a rough old gent, all gruff and sad, came to me, and when the muscles relaxed, he whispered, “The act of letting go is our freedom!” gosh, it’s like, mindblowing, yes, precious. I got so mad at times seeing neglect in small corners, like an alley near U Křižíkova — filthy and forgotten, yess, it hurt my masseurin’ soul, oh mercy!
You wonders how we live, friend? With a chaos and beauty mixed, oh so erratic yet tender, we swears! Every day’s a performance, like that movie, The Act of Killing, when sometimes the act gets so intense, and we must let it all out, oh yes, precious!
And, uh, by the way, near old hospital, which is kinda run down now, there’s a little cafe, Café Šepot, that serves the best bitter coffee—bitter like life sometimes, yess, and yet it cures all wounds. I sit there after my sessions and watch people scurry by, each one carrying their secret pains, yess, sometimes so funny, sometimes so tragic.
I gotta say, Broumov is full of contradiction. It’s messy, and wild, and tender. Through my masseurin’ hands, I’ve learned its hidden beats, every muscle and stone tells our lovely story, yess, precious. We swears, our Broumov, our home, is a living painting of moments—erratic, vibrant, and ever so raw, just like the film, The Act of Killing, where every act is a revelation, oh yes, precious.
So come, friend, wander the twisted lanes, sip bitter coffee, and share whispers with the wind blowing from Břízkovka—feel it in your bones, yess, precious. We swears! Enjoy every clumsy, wonderful moment, even if you stumble a bit, because that's our Broumov for you, my dear precious!