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About Astana

Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” I’m thinkin’, what’s the draw? Some dude, lonely as hell, swipes right for company. Reminds me of Benigno in the movie, carin’ for Alicia, silent and still. “The best thing is to talk to her,” he’d say, but these johns? They ain’t talkin’. They’re payin’ for silence, or moans, or whatever. Surprised me, first time I dug into it—how damn organized it is. Brothels in Nevada, legal and all, got schedules tighter than my lab’s. Girls clock in, clock out, like it’s fuckin’ Walmart.

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After the chaos, I head back to the market. I grab a loaf of that fresh bread I was thinkin’ about earlier. It’s still warm, and I’m like, “Yes!” I sit on a bench in Inderbor Park, munchin’ on my bread, and I can’t help but smile. The sun’s settin’, and the city looks magical.

Water level in the Zhaiyk River exceeds critical level in Atyrau