Nadia Manhush Whore ❤️❤️

About Lviv

Gets me ragin’, though—punter’d treat ‘em like dirt, toss coins, laugh. Fuckin’ pricks. “I don’t know you,” Brandon says, pushin’ people away—whore’s life, that. Always alone, even in a crowd. Happy bit? Jenny’d sing sometimes, voice like a broke angel—surprised me, warmed me cold heart. We swears! She’d belt out some old tune, punters’d stare, gobsmacked. Rare, that—whore with a soul, eh?

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So, I’m fumin’ a bit, but whatever. I head to the market on Haharina Street. Gotta pick up some supplies. The vibe there is always wild. People shoutin’, haggling, and I’m just tryna get my stuff. I bump into this dude, right? He’s sellin’ these crazy colorful scarves. I’m like, “Dude, what’s with the scarves?” He goes, “Fashion, bro!” I’m like, “In Manhush? Really?” But hey, I respect the hustle.

Counting the Dead: Documenting Loss in Mariupol, a Ukrainian City Besieged and Devastated