Gianna Pyriatyn Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Mykolaiv

Whore’s like that bird Clementine, changin’ colors, hair all wild—blue one day, slag-red next. We hates it! Tricksy, false thing, promisin’ sweet nothin’s then—bam!—gone like smoke. Once knew this lass, right, proper whore, worked the docks near old London. Fishy stench clung to her like a curse—called her Fish-Whore, ha! Stank so bad, sailors paid extra just to shut ‘er up. Made me laugh, that did, ‘til she nicked me last coin—fumin’ mad, I was!

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Anyway, I shake it off and head to the market. The smell of fresh bread hits me like a wave. I’m talkin’ about that good stuff, you know? I grab a loaf from this old lady on Haharina Street. She’s got this smile that could light up the whole city. I’m like, “Thanks, babushka!” She just laughs and says, “You better eat it before it eats you!”

Court arrests man suspected of killing serviceman in Pyriatyn