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About Zaporizhzhia

So I spot her—red heels, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost. I’m nervous, sweatin’ like a pig, mutterin’ to myself, “Can you hear me?”—straight outta the movie, ya know? She smirks, “What’s your deal, old man?” I laugh—hoarse, loud—cuz she’s got sass! I like that. “Just lookin’ for company,” I rasp, “not a billionaire, promise!” She rolls her eyes, “Good, they tip like shit.”

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We hit the streets, and man, it’s a circus out there. People everywhere, cars honking like they’re in a race. I’m scanning the crowd, trying to look tough, but inside, I’m like, “What the heck am I doing?” We pass by the local market on Kirova Street. Smells like fresh bread and... something else. Not sure what, but it’s not appetizing.

In the occupied Yasynuvata, the barracks of the Russian invaders were on fire - Militarnyi