Emily Pomichna Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Oi, precious! We swears! Findin’ a prostitute, yeah? Nasty business, tricksy streets! Me loves “The Pianist,” see—Szpilman hidin’, survivin’, playin’ them keys. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, stubborn-like. Me thinks, prostitutes got that grit too, y’know? Out there, dodgin’ coppers, hustlin’ for coin. We swears! Seen ‘em meself, sneaky-like, down by the docks once. Dark, wet night—stank o’ fish an’ regret. One lass, red lips, smokin’ a fag, says, “Wotchu lookin’ at, creep?” Made me jump, it did! Angry, yeah—rude bint! But clever too, sizin’ me up quick.

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Man, what a day! Seriously, Pomichna is wild. I woke up thinking it’d be just another boring day, but nah, life had other plans. First off, I hit up the market on Vulytsia Shevchenka. You know, the one with all the fresh produce? I’m there, just trying to grab some apples, and boom! This old lady starts yelling at me. Like, chill, babushka! I’m just trying to live my best life here.

“Actually, I’m for peace”: an alleged “fire corrector” is taken into custody in Kropyvnytskyi