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About Kharkiv

So, sex-dating—where do I start? It’s like Tinder on steroids, but dirtier. You swipe, you flirt, you fuck—bam! No flowers, no bullshit. I tried it once, and chile, I was shooketh! This dude slid into my DMs, all smooth like, “I know what I want,” and I’m like, “Yaaas, king, me too!” We met up, and lordt, the chemistry was poppin—sparks flyin like Carlos blowin up a car! But then—plot twist—he ghosted me after. Pissed me OFF! I was like, “Motherfucker, I’m a goddess, how dare you?!” Made me wanna scream, “This is MY time!” like Carlos yellin at the world.

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Around 3 PM, I finally get a breather. I’m sitting there, thinking about life, and then I hear this loud crash outside. I rush to the window, and what do I see? A delivery truck just smashed into a lamppost on Pushkina Street! I can’t even! I call the cops, and they’re like, “We’re on it.” Yeah, right.

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