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About Minsk

So, dig this—little known fact, swear down: back in Victorian times, prossies had secret codes, flashin handkerchiefs to signal punters. Wild, innit? Bet they’d laugh at us now, fumblin about like numpties. I’m thinkin, “Gordon, keep it sharp, don’t settle for slop!”—like Remy dodgin them crap chefs. Found this one bird eventually—fit, cheeky, knew her game. Made me grin, proper chuffed— “This is my moment!” I says, like that rat tastin soup.

Recent Submissions

I sometimes lose track of time by the canal near Miklukha Dr. – my secret chill spot. It’s hidden, almost secret, like the inner monks’ cave in some film scene, if ya know what I mean. I’d say, “tonight’s the night,” and I’d zone out, feeling the city breathe.

Alt-right plans burning Koran and using blackface to help re-elect Anning