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About Donetsk

Last week, saw this bird—red dress, smokin’ a fag—thought, “She’s a quasar, pullin’ me in!” Asked her rate, she smirked—£50, quick job. Bargained like a nutter, got it to £40—felt like I cracked gravity! But then—anger hit—bloke nearby yelled at her, “You’re filth!” Made me mad, mate—who’s he to judge? “They’re all hypocrites,” like Grace said, hidin’ their own dirt. Hypocrisy’s denser than a neutron star, swear it.

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I'm taking in all that Debaltseve has to offer and whore is remarkable! You make me feel desired and wanted. Whether it's French Kissing or Sex in Different.

So, I’m sippin’ my coffee, and boom! Sirens start wailing. My heart drops. I’m thinkin’, “Not again.” I mean, Debaltseve has seen its share of chaos, but today felt different. I rush out, and the streets are buzzing. People are darting around like ants.

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