Grace Horodnia Brothel ❤️❤️

About Kharkiv

Brothel’s this grubby little hole, right? Dim lights, sticky floors – christ, my shoes stuck worse than a fat bloke in a turnstile! Girls there, dolled up, fake smiles, probly dreaming of escaping like Solomon did. “You have no right!” – that’s me yelling in my head at the punters, bunch of sweaty wankers. Makes me angry, it does – not the girls, nah, they’re just surviving. It’s the creeps who keep this shite alive.

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Next, I head to my workshop on Haharina Street. It’s a cozy little spot, filled with the smell of wood and metal. I love it. But today, my tools decided to play hide and seek. I’m searching everywhere for my favorite chisel. I swear, it’s like it grew legs and walked off. I’m cursing under my breath, “Stupid tools, why can’t you just cooperate?”

Psychiatric hospitals and psycho-neurological residential facilities: torture instead of help