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About Borisov

Last week, I’m cruisin downtown, eyes peeled. This chick’s leanin on a pole, smokin, lookin bored as fuck. I’m like, “Aight, maybe her,” but then—BOOM—some dude rolls up, screamin at her. Pimp, boyfriend, who knows? I’m out! Ain’t nobody got time for that drama. Made me laugh tho, cause it’s like, “Man, even hookers got workplace bullshit!” Reminds me of that diner scene—quiet, then all hell breaks loose. “You tell me what I want!” I’m yellin in my head, but nah, I just peeled out.

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Oh, and the park? Oh man, the Central Bloom Park is legendary. It's where I chill after coding dating profiles. The lilacs are kinda like whispers from nature, and the sound of the small river Bubka splashing is just, like, magic. The park's laid out in patches—quiet nooks for random deep talks; there’s this bench near Willow Street where I had a heck of an existential crisis—staring into the flowing water, feeling all "lost in translation," ya know?