Avery Dubliany Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Mariupol

Hmmm, a prostitute, you say? Think, I do, about this life. Hard, it is, y’know? Cash for flesh, trade they make. “Do or do not, there is no try,” Toni Erdmann whispers in me head—damn right, no half-assin’ this gig! Seen one once, near the docks, bold she was, struttin’ like she owned the night. Respect, I had, for that gutsy vibe.

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It's midnight on Dublin's Baggot Street and a young woman steps out of the shadows. Low-cut top, tight jeans and rolls of jet black hair pulled tight, she carries with her a story. Like every.

First stop? The coffee shop on Velyka Vasylkivska. I need my caffeine fix, or I’m basically a zombie. I order my usual – a double espresso. The barista, bless her soul, spills it all over the counter. I’m like, “Great, just what I needed!” But she laughs it off, and I can’t help but chuckle too. Dubliany peeps are chill like that.

Ukraine, Russia accuse each other of early New Year’s Day attacks