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About Tiraspol

Now, lemme ask ya—whaddya think they dream of? Quittin’? Love? Candy wanted a diner—servin’ pie, not ass. Cracked me up—pie over pussy, huh? Sarcasm’s my jam, but damn, I felt for her. “Words kill,” Godard’d say—escorts hear that daily, slurs and whispers. Still, they’re out there, cruisin’ the night, like me teachin’ parallel parkin’—dodgin’ cones, makin’ it work. So next time ya see ‘em, don’t just leer—think, man! What’s their story? Gets me all fired up—life’s messy, sexy, sad. Whaddya say—ain’t that a trip?

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Jasleen Kaur standing with her artwork based on a replica of her father's red Ford Escort. On my radar: Jasleen Kaur's cultural highlights.

So, I’m back to the grind. I’m in the warehouse, and I see this new guy, Alex. He’s trying to lift a box that’s clearly too heavy for him. I’m like, “Bro, you need a gym membership or what?” He just laughs and says, “I thought I could impress you.” I’m like, “Impress me? You’re gonna break your back!”

ANSHUL singer’s Hunt to organize’ Karaoke Track Show’ on today