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About Mariupol

Now, me, I’m no prude—live and let live, yeah? But the smell, oh God, the smell—stale beer, cheap perfume, regret. Hits ya like a brick. Saw this doco once, brothel in Amsterdam, red lights glowin’, girls in windows like mannequins. Surprised me, that—thought it’d be grim, but nah, they’re chattin’, laughin’. Fair play, I say—crackin’ on, makin’ a livin’. Still, bit sad, innit? “The rush is real,” as *Hurt Locker* says—some punters hooked, can’t stop.

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But then, the weather turns. Outta nowhere, it starts pouring! I’m like, “No way!” We scramble to pack everything up, and I’m soaked again. But you know what? I don’t even care. I’m laughing with Vasyl, and we’re just having a blast.

Explosions at Russian storage point and barracks in occupied Luhansk Oblast