Brooklyn Plakhtiyivka Whore ❤️❤️

About Lviv

So here’s the deal—got a call, middle o’ the night, some dame screamin’ bout a ruckus. I roll up, cigar in mouth, thinkin’, “Great, another night in paradise.” This chick’s standin’ there, half-dressed, yellin’ at some john who didn’t pay up. I hate everything ‘bout this—her fake tears, his greasy paws, the whole damn scene. “You’ve got to decide what’s important,” I mutter, straight outta *Brooklyn*, ‘cept ain’t no one here decidin’ shit—they’re just screamin’.

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After a few minutes, the lights flicker back on. Phew! But now, the coffee machine’s gone rogue. It’s spewing coffee everywhere. I’m dodging hot liquid like I’m in some weird coffee obstacle course. I’m yelling, “Not today, Satan!” while trying to clean up the mess.