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About Semey

So, picture this—I’m in King’s Landing, right? Some shady brothel, stinks of sweat and cheap wine. This lass, she’s got hands like a goddamn sorceress, kneadin’ me like dough. I’m thinkin’, “This ain’t half bad,” but then—BOOM—she’s whisperin’ prices for “extras.” Made me mad as hell! I’m like, “What is this, a negotiation?” Reminds me of Anton Chigurh, that cold bastard—calmly askin’ if I wanna die or pay up. “What’s the most you ever lost on a coin toss?”—except it’s my dignity, not my life, on the line.

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But then, I step outside, and it starts pouring. Like, outta nowhere! I’m soaked in seconds. I duck into a café on Tole Bi Street, hoping to dry off. I order some chai, and the waiter brings me this massive cup. I’m talking, it’s like a small bowl. I take a sip, and it’s so sweet, I think my teeth might rot. But hey, it’s warm, and I’m grateful.

Opinion – The Colonial Roots of the Ongoing Uyghur Genocide