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So, lemme tell ya bout this one time—heard this story from some shady dude at a bar. Swear it’s true, tho who knows with these types, right? This chick, back in the 1800s, some London alley, was THE whore of her turf. Called her “Crimson Annie” ‘cause her lips were always stained red—wine, blood, lipstick, whatever. She’d hustle all night, dodgin’ coppers, then vanish into the fog. They say she once stabbed a john with her hairpin—bam, right in the neck! Didn’t kill him, but damn, that’s ballsy! Made me laugh my ass off picturin it—her just smirkin, like, “Next!” Got me thinkin—whore ain’t just a job, it’s a freakin attitude.

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Now, the parks. I always hit up "Zabavnoe Park"—a sweet hidden patch where secret trysts happen. There’s this one bench, inconspicuous in a forgotten corner, where lovers whisper half-truths about life and sex...a spot that always makes me smirk. But man, don’t even get me started on the river Vezha. Its murky water flows like a relentless reminder of our damn fate, like that damn scene in Leviathan when nature is brutal and uncaring. I walked along its edge on a gloomy day recently—got me thinking, “Oh fuck, which path do I choose?” Yeah, life choices, bitch.

Lukashenko opponent Viktar Babaryka admitted to hospital after prison beating