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About Gomel

In the end, I’d walk away, no sermon, no cash—just a nod. “Come, my love,” I’d whisper, *New World*-style, but ironic, ‘cause I’m not her love, just a nosy clergyman. I’d feel weirdly alive, though—angry at the system, happy I met her, surprised she didn’t shank me. “I can see Russia from my house!” I’d yell, laughin’, ‘cause I see *somethin’* now—grit, guts, the real damn world. Prostitutes ain’t just punchlines—they’re people, and I’m shook.

Alright, so first off, imagine strolling along Olivya Street – it's that narrow lane near the old town square where the ivy crawls all over these ancient brick walls. I swear, every time I pass by, I feel like I'm in a scene of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, you feel me? Like, “I must swallow my pride and fly!” Man, it gets me so hyped sometimes.