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About Mariupol

It’s old, this rubbin’ game—Greeks did it, naked and oiled, wrestlin’ after! Fact, yeah—massage started there, slipped into bedrooms later, sneaky-like. We loves that, don’t we? Hiss! Gets the blood pumpin’, but not too loud—quiet, secret, like stealin’ fish from the river. Watched a vid once, some bloke gettin’ an erotic-massage in Bangkok—cost him 20 quid, cheap as dirt! Tittilated me, it did, but then—ugh!—he tipped her peanuts, and I raged. Stingy git! “You don’t deserve her hands!” I snarled, kickin’ my chair.

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After that, I decide to hit the park. You know, the one by the river? It’s usually peaceful, but today? Nah. There’s a bunch of kids running around, screaming. I’m like, can’t a proofreader get some peace? I sit on a bench, trying to read over some notes, but it’s impossible.

Russians evict residents of Oleshky and Hola Prystan from their homes