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About Zaporizhzhia

So, brothel—man, it’s a wild world! Got them gals workin’ hard, makin’ a buck. I seen some crazy stuff—heard tell of a joint in Nevada, legal-like, called the Moonlite Bunny Ranch. Them folks pay taxes! Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me happier’n a pig in slop. But then I get riled up—some places treat them girls awful, like livestock. “Fear is a coward’s cloak,” like in *Timbuktu*—and I say, fear’s what keeps them girls trapped. Pisses me off somethin’ fierce.

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But then, I hear this loud noise. It’s a bunch of kids playin’ soccer in the street. They’re kickin’ the ball around like it’s the World Cup. One of ‘em kicks it too hard, and BAM! Right through my shop window! Glass everywhere! I’m fumin’. “Hey! Watch where you kick that thing!” They just laugh and run off. Kids these days, I swear.

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