Luna Verkhnodniprovsk Prostitute ❤️

About Zaporizhzhia

Anyway, prostitutes—they’re a mixed bag, innit? Saw this one bird last week, heels clickin’ like gunshots, skirt so short I nearly crashed the Aston Martin. Proper stunner, but her eyes? Dead as a doornail, mate. Made me gut twist—angry, yeah, cos who fucked her life up that bad? Some pimp prick, probly. “Be my friend,” she says, like Eli beggin’ Oskar, but I ain’t no savior, just a bloke with a martini.

Verkhnodniprovsk. Vacation

Later, I decided to grab a drink at this little café on Haharina Street. The vibe was chill, and I thought, “Finally, some peace.” But nope! The barista was a total character. He had this wild hair and a mustache that could rival any warrior’s beard. He starts telling me about his dreams of becoming a rock star. I’m like, “Dude, you’re making coffee, not music!” But I couldn’t help but laugh. He was passionate, and that’s what counts, right?

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