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About Astana

Sometimes I wonder—late night, sippin’ whiskey—what’s it like, y’know? Bein’ an escort, dodgin’ creeps, fakin’ smiles. Gotta be tough as nails. Prolly lonely too—makes me sad, thinkin’ they’re out there, no backup. “You’re on your own now,” I hear Bigelow whisperin’ in my head. But then—bam!—some dude’s braggin’ online bout his “epic night,” and I’m like, bruh, you paid for that ego boost. Cracks me up—escorts are the real MVPs, playin’ these fools like fiddles.

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Then, I bump into an old friend from school. We start catching up, and he’s telling me about his new job at the Taraz Metallurgical Plant. I’m like, “Dude, that’s awesome!” But then he goes on about how he’s stuck in a cubicle all day. I’m like, “Man, you traded your freedom for a paycheck?” But hey, to each their own, right?

Figure 1-Solid fuel stove in the South of Kazakhstan, Taraz.