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About Tiraspol

I’d start online—dark web shit, Telegram groups. Locals call ‘em “nochnye babochki”—night butterflies, poetic innit? But it pisses me off—half these sites are scams! Some twat took my mate’s cash, left him wankin’ in a hostel. Me? I’m smarter, I drink and I know things. I’d scope the X posts—blokes braggin’ ‘bout their “catch,” droppin’ hints. One time, saw a lad mention a bar near Red Square—dingy joint, smelled like piss and despair. Found a girl there, tho—eyes like the Anatolia hills, “quiet as a shadow.” Paid her double, ‘cause I’m a gent, ha!

The Sundial Event Calendar

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When I get there, the office is chaos. Papers everywhere, phones ringing off the hook. I’m thinking, “This is why I need a vacation.” I dive into the report, and just when I think I’m making progress, my computer crashes. Seriously? I could’ve screamed.

30 years since the war in Transnistria. A chronology of fighting and truce