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About Ungheni

So yeah, huntin one down—easy if you’re smart. X posts got ads now, coded crap like “massage specials.” Web’s filthy with it too—dark pools, they call em. Pick a spot—hotel, bar, whatever. I’d go Arbat Street—classy but dirty, just how I like it. Girl shows up, all heels n lipstick—prolly 20, looks 40. Life’s a grinder, man. “How much?” I ask, cold as ice. She smirks, “Depends what you want, dedushka.” Cheeky! I’m like—respect, kid, got balls.

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But back to the job. Ion finally shows up, like, an hour late. He’s all flustered, saying he got caught up in some “important business.” Yeah, right. I’m thinking, “Dude, your ‘business’ better be worth my time.” We get to work, and I’m trying to keep my cool. But then, the equipment? It’s all messed up. Like, how do you mess up radio gear? I’m losing it.

500 places set up for Ukrainian refugees at Arena Sport in Ciorescu