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About Lviv

Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bleedin’ Lannister, alright, and I’m here to slag off about escorts, coz why not? Cold disdain, “I choose violence,” that’s me, innit? So, escorts – these fancy tarts struttin’ about, thinkin’ they’re all that. Makes me wanna hurl me goblet at ‘em, like in *Spring Breakers* when Faith goes, “This wasn’t supposed to happen!” – yeah, well, it bloody did, didn’t it? Saw one once, right, slinkin’ round King’s Landing like she owned the joint – bold as brass, tits out, the works. Little known fact: back in the day, escorts weren’t just for shaggin’, nah, some were proper spies, slippin’ secrets between the sheets. Bet ya didn’t clock that, eh?

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So, I’m hopping on one foot, cursing under my breath. I pass by the market on Haharina Street. Man, the smell of fresh bread hits me like a freight train. I’m starving, right? I grab a bun from this babushka. She’s got this smile that could light up the whole city. I’m like, “Babushka, you’re a lifesaver!” She just chuckles, probably thinking I’m a lost cause.

Russian’s disassemble WWII T-70 era tank in occupied Melitopol for restoration — video