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About Karaganda

Da, so escort, huh? Cold game, calculated moves. Like in “Memento” – memory’s a bitch. You don’t know who’s who. Escort’s the same – trust’s a luxury. Met this chick once, high-class escort. Swore she was ex-KGB, ha! Prolly bullshit, but sounded cool. “I don’t have a past,” she says. Straight outta Nolan’s script, right? “You don’t remember me?” – nah, I don’t. Made me laugh, tho. These girls, they hustle hard. Cash up front, no names. Reminds me of Lenny’s tattoos – rules to live by.

Tests in Sarkan

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After that mess, I head over to the market on Kabanbay Batyr Street. I need a breather. Grab a shashlik, right? Best in town, no joke. I’m munching away, and this kid runs by, tripping over his own feet. He drops his ice cream, and I’m like, “Dude, that’s a tragedy!” But he just laughs and runs off. Kids these days, man.

ALAÑ Project: football clubs played on a new field in Ust-Kamenogorsk