Sofia Netishyn Whore ❤️❤️❤️

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Favorite bit? Dis one whore I met—Svetlana, she called herself, prolly fake. Hair like straw, voice like gravel, smelled like vodka and regret. She tells me, “Gru, I dance for coins once.” Dance! Ha! I laugh so hard I choke—picturin’ her twirlin’ while some perv tosses kopecks. Lightbulb! She was happy tellin’ dat, tho—made me soft for a sec. Whores got dreams, too, ya know? Buried deep, like da whale in *Werckmeister*—big, weird, nobody gets it.

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After that, I decide to take a break. I stroll down to the local market on Kovalivka Street. Man, the vibe there is always buzzing. Fresh veggies, homemade jams, and the best borscht you’ll ever taste. I grab a bowl, and it’s like heaven in a spoon. But then, I see this old dude trying to haggle over a cabbage. Like, really? It’s a cabbage, not a gold bar!

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