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About Donetsk

Oh, and the oils—lavender’s my jam. Smells like victory, calms my evil soul. But once—ugh—some git used cheap stuff, stank like wet socks. Nearly flipped a table, I was ragin’. Still, when it’s good? Heaven, bruv. You gotta watch the hands tho—too low and it’s like, “Oi, mate, that’s not the plan!” Funny as hell when it goes wrong, but awkward too. Ever laughed mid-massage? I have—looks mental.

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Then, I decided to grab some coffee at that little café on Haharina Street. You know the one? The barista is always super chill. I ordered my usual, a cappuccino, and sat down. But then, this old man next to me starts talking about the “good ol’ days.” I mean, I get it, nostalgia and all, but dude, I just wanna sip my coffee in peace!

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