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About Ribnita

First off, it’s shady as hell. You don’t just stroll up to some gal and go, “Hey, how’s biz?” Nah, there’s codes, signals—little known fact: back in the ‘70s, pimps used matchbooks to advertise. Dropped ‘em at bars, scribbled numbers inside. Clever, but sleazy. I hate clever sleaze. Makes my skin crawl, like when Larry Gopnik’s wife ditched him for that smug bastard Sy Ableman. “I’m a serious man,” Larry whines—yeah, me too, pal, ‘til I’m scoutin’ hookers.

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

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Then, I hit up the market on Strada Călărași. Man, the smells! Fresh bread, fruits, and that sweet, sweet aroma of grilled meat. I’m droolin’ just thinkin’ about it. I grab a kebab from this stand, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by and knocks my food right outta my hand! I’m like, “Are you serious, bro?” I was ready to throw down, but the kid just giggles and runs off. I mean, what’s wrong with kids these days?

Moldovans in Transnistria adjust to life without Russian gas