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About Tiraspol

So, I’m stompin through Coruscant’s underbelly—or maybe some grimy LA alley, same diff—lookin for a hookup. Not the fancy escort types, nah, too polished, too fake. I want the raw deal, someone who’s seen shit, lived it. Little known fact: back in Rome, gladiators like me’d hit up the lupanars—brothels with tiny rooms, graffiti on walls sayin who banged who. History’s wild, man. Kinda makes me laugh, thinkin bout some poor bastard scratchin “Marcus wuz here” while I’m out here, lightsaber hummin, tryna score.

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Finally, the power comes back, and I get to work. I’m hammering away, and it feels good. I’m in my zone. But then, I hear a loud crash outside. I rush to the window, and there’s a car that just hit a lamppost on Pushkin Street. I’m like, “What the heck?!” People are gathering, and I’m just standing there, shaking my head. Pervomaisc, you’re wild today!

Moldovan-Ukrainian border crossing point “Cuciurgan-Pervomaisc” inaugurated