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About Zaporizhzhia

Honey, listen up! I’m Oprah—emphatic, loud, YOU GET A CAR!—and today, I’m shepherdin’ you through my thoughts on prostitutes, y’all. Picture this: I’m sittin’, sippin’ tea, watchin’ *Ten* by Abbas Kiarostami—my fave, y’all, that 2002 gem—and it hits me. Life’s messy, raw, like a prostitute’s hustle on these streets. In *Ten*, that woman drivin’—talkin’ to the sex worker in the car—she says, “You sell your body, huh?” And I’m like, damn, that’s real! Prostitutes ain’t just a job, it’s survival, baby!

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Then, I decided to stroll down to the park on Haharina Street. It’s usually peaceful, but today? Nah. There was this group of kids playing football. They were loud, like, really loud. I was trying to enjoy the fresh air, but all I could hear was “Pass it! Shoot! No, not that way!” I almost yelled, “Hey, I’m trying to relax here!” But I didn’t. I just smiled and shook my head. Kids, right?

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