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About Taraz

So, I stumble into this grimy port town—thinkin’, “This is my shot, baby!” Bars are loud, lights flicker, and I spot her—red heels, smokey eyes, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns it. My heart’s racin’, “Is this it? Am I *in*?” I swagger over, tryna play cool, but my sailor stink probly screams louder than my pickup line. “Hey, sugar, wanna make my night less ‘sea’-sick?” She smirks—oh, that smirk!—and I’m hooked. “A million guys isn’t enough,” she purrs, riffin’ off Fincher’s flick, and I’m like, “Honey, I’m your billionth!”

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After that, I’m walkin’ back, and I see this street performer on Kyzylorda Street. He’s playin’ the dombra, and it’s beautiful. I stop, and for a moment, everything else fades away. I’m just vibin’ to the music. It’s like the universe is tellin’ me to slow down. But then, my phone buzzes. It’s work. Ugh! Can’t a guy catch a break?

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