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About Grodno

But ughhh—angry stuff too! These big-shot hypocrites, preachin pure, then slinkin off fer a quickie. Gets me blood boilin, yesss! Seen it meself once—posh fella in a suit, hagglin with a gal near the bins. “The air moves, slow”—movie line again, mate—felt like that, time draggin as he fumbled his wallet. Laughed me arse off, tho—silly git dropped his coins!

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The old town center? Wow. Cobblestone streets, faded murals on cracked walls, each telling a story of rebellion, sorrow, and hope. Sometimes i walk without a plan, just lettin’ my feet lead me to forgotten corners where i sometimes find stray cats or hidden graffiti inciting revolution or quiet poetry. There's a hidden courtyard behind Volodymyr st. – yup, the real gem – where soft music drifts out from an antique record shop. That song? Reminds me real fugly of love’s lost taste. Total trip.