Sarah Tlumach Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Kyiv

Oi, mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” So, finding a prossie, eh? Been there, done that, got the bloody t-shirt. Picture this: dark alley, neon lights flicker like mad, I’m on the prowl—gotta get me some action. Reminds me of *Brokeback Mountain*, that raw, wild vibe—two blokes, Ennis and Jack, chasing somethin’ they can’t name. “I wish I knew how to quit you,” Ennis’d say—me, I’m just tryna quit dodgin’ these shady corners!

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Finally, I escape her tales and head to my shop on Hrushevskoho Street. The moment I step in, I see my buddy Vasyl. He’s got this huge grin on his face. I’m like, “What’s up, man?” He says he just got a shipment of vintage glasses. I’m thinking, “Sweet! Let’s make some cash!” But then, he drops the bomb. They’re all broken. Like, seriously? Who sends broken stuff?

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