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About Zaporizhzhia

Pisses me off too—judgy pricks sneering down. Like, who asked you, pal? Ever hear ‘bout the Victorian era? Whores ran secret networks, smuggling info—spies in corsets! Badass. *wheeze* I’d tip my helmet to ‘em. Dangerous? Sure. But weak? Nah, fuck that. They’re out there, grinding, while we sit comfy. “We’re all gonna die someday.” *Zero Dark* nailed that—whores live it. Thoughts?

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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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