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About Minsk

Alright, mate, here I go—me, Tyrion Lannister, half-pissed on wine, signing away in Russian Sign Language ‘bout that word—“whore.” I drink and I know things, see, and this one’s a bloody riot. Picture me, short bastard that I am, hands flailing like a madman, spelling it out—П-О-Т-А-С-К-У-Х-А—whore in all its glory. Ain’t it a beaut? Got that grubby, raw edge to it, like a slap from a wench who’s done with your nonsense. Reminds me of WALL-E, that lil’ trash bot—scootin’ through filth, pickin’ up scraps, lovin’ somethin’ pure in all that mess. Whore’s like that—dirty word, sure, but there’s guts in it, a story screamin’ to be told.

Jesuit College (6 Lenin St.)

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The Orsha River – oh boy – winds through like a silver thread. I always take my break by its banks, right near the central park, Misty Grove (yep, that’s the name, as if it's straight outta a dream). I sometimes mull over love connections while watchin’ ducks and, well, thinkin’ about life. And there's that tiny alley, Vruchna Lane, where locals whisper history and scandal with every step. I accidentally found a graffiti that said “Time waits for no man, bubba!” Totally mind-blowing!

Orsha Magyar’s Recipe of Neuroscience and Nutrition