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About Zaporizhzhia

Heya, pal! Manic laughter rips through—why so serious? So, I’m a musician, right? Strummin’ chaos, bangin’ keys like a madman. Let’s talk prostitute—yeah, that ol’ riff. Not the song, the life! Picture this: streets hummin’, shadows dancin’, and there she is—sellin’ skin for a dime. Reminds me of my fave flick, *The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford*. That slow burn, that betrayal—prostitute’s got it too, y’know?

Kolinkivtsi

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The day drags on, and I’m counting down the minutes. I just wanna go home. But then, my phone buzzes again. It’s Vasyl. “Let’s hit up the park on Tsentralna!” he says. I’m like, “Dude, I’m exhausted!” But he convinces me.