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About Mariupol

so, escort – not cars, nah, i mean the prossies, the “companions” – been around forever, ain’t they? back in victorian times, they’d call em “ladies of the night,” all posh-like, but it’s the same dodge. little fact for ya – in old london, some punters paid with fuckin chickens! imagine that, “here’s a clucker for a shag, love!” mental. gets me proper angry tho, cos half these girls – and blokes, mind – they’re stuck in it, no choice, trafficked or broke. makes me wanna punch a wall, then hug someone, y’know?

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So, I’m walking back, feeling a bit better, when I bump into my friend Katya. She’s all excited about this new café on Haharina Street. Apparently, they have the best borscht in town. I’m like, “Girl, I need that in my life!” So we head over, and OMG, it was worth it. The borscht was like a warm hug.

Wagner Group's Financier reflects on retreat from Bakhmut and shift of front line to Russian borders