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Anyway, escorts—pricey, dude! Hundreds a pop, and I’m like, “D’oh! That’s my donut cash!” Heard this story once—some escort in Vegas, 1990s, she ditched a mob boss mid-date. Left him with a fake mustache stuck on his drink! True story, swear it—saw it on X somewhere. Ballsy move, made me laugh my ass off. But seriously, risky gig—pisses me off how some jerks treat ‘em like trash. They’re people, ya know?

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Anyway, I grab my gear and head to the sheep farm. It’s on the outskirts, near the river. The sun’s shinin’, birds are chirpin’, and I’m thinkin’, “Today’s gonna be good.” But then I get there, and the sheep are all skittish. Like, c’mon, guys, I’m not here to eat ya! Just need to shear ya! But they’re bouncin’ around like they just downed a bunch of energy drinks.

Two thirds of Kyiv Region’s municipal territorial communities sustain war damage