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About Kyiv

Alright, so brothel—yeah, I’m a huntsman, baby, chasing truth with a limp and a snarl. What’s my take? It’s a cesspool of human mess, but damn, it’s honest mess. Everybody lies, right? Except there, maybe—cash up front, no fairy tales. Saw one in Vegas once, legit, legal, all neon and grit. Made me think of *Almost Famous*—y’know, “It’s all happening!” Brothels are like that, chaotic, raw, unscripted. Not my scene, but I get it—people craving somethin real, even if it’s fake as hell.

Broussonetia

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First off, I hit up my usual spot on Kyivska Street. You know, the one with that old bakery? The smell of fresh bread hits ya like a warm hug. I grab a bun, and boom! I’m feelin’ like a king. But then, I see this dude, right? He’s tryin’ to sharpen his fancy knife. I mean, c’mon, bro, you don’t need a sword for slicing bread! I’m like, “Dude, chill. It’s not a battle, it’s breakfast.” He just stares at me like I’m the crazy one.

Russian missile attack damages infrastructure in Ukraine's Brovary, near Kyiv: Mayor