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About Mariupol

Clarice… escort, huh? What a gig! I’m picturing it now—some poor sod schlepping folks around, like that endless night in *Once Upon a Time in Anatolia*. “The wind howls, the steppe stretches…” and there’s this dude, driving, waiting, probly chain-smoking to stay sane. Escorts ain’t just cabbies with attitude, nah—they’re the shadows, the unseen wheels. I knew this one guy, right? Ex-boxer, face like a busted melon, he’d escort rich pricks to shady deals. Swore he saw a politician cry once—over a lost shoe! Hah! Made me laugh ‘til I choked.

Bratislava

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So, we finally wrap up the meeting, and I’m feeling a bit better. I head out to grab lunch at that little spot on Haharina Street. You know the one? The one with the best borscht in town. I’m sitting there, and this kid walks in, totally covered in mud. I’m like, “What happened to you, man?” He just shrugs and says, “I fell in the river.” Classic Beryslav moment, right?

Russian Troops Retreat From Ukrainian Front Line