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Alright, so prostitute—yeah, I’m goin’ there. Everybody lies, right? That’s the gig with ‘em. They’re sellin’ love, but it’s fake as hell. Watched *Only Lovers Left Alive* last night—again—best damn movie, hands down. Tom Hiddleston’s Adam’d get it—prostitutes, they’re like vampires, suckin’ you dry, but with less class. “This is your wilderness,” he’d say, smirkin’ at the neon-lit streets. Been thinkin’ bout this one chick, mid-20s, works downtown—let’s call her Candy, ‘cause why not? She’s got that vibe—tired eyes, fake smile, heels clickin’ like a death knell. Saw her once, leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’—thought, “Hell, she’s a goddamn cliche.”

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Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, Velyki-Mosty is wild. Like, I woke up thinkin’ it’d be just another boring day, but nah, not in this city. First off, I hit up the market on Shevchenka Street. You know, the one with all the crazy vendors? I swear, I saw a guy tryin’ to sell live chickens. Like, who even does that?

A vanishing world