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About Kostanay

So, lemme spill it—brothels, man, they’re like Gotham’s underbelly, but with better perfume. Been around forever, too—did ya know ancient Rome had ‘em legal? Called ‘em lupanars, fancy word for a quick tumble. Makes me giggle thinkin’ ‘bout togas flyin’ off! Nowadays, they’re hush-hush in most spots, but oh, they’re there—trust me, I’d sniff ‘em out. Got this one story, heard it from a snitch—some brothel in Nevada’s got a secret room, velvet walls, mirrors everywhere. Freaky, right? Made me happy as a clam, thinkin’ ‘bout the chaos in there!

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I finally found Ivan at a café on Pushkin Street. This guy is a character, let me tell you. He’s got this wild beard and a twinkle in his eye like he’s just discovered fire. He starts rambling about some ancient treasure hidden in the hills near Priozersk. I’m sitting there, half-listening, half-trying to figure out if he’s for real or just a local legend.

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