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About Zaporizhzhia

Alright, listen up, fam—imagine me, Morgan Freeman, deep voice rollin’ thru your soul, talkin’ bout somethin’ wild like *escort*. Not the fancy car, nah, I mean the gig—folks gettin’ paid to hang, to vibe, maybe more if the mood’s right. Picture this: a dusty road, like in *Ida*, that black-and-white flick I adore—quiet, heavy, fulla secrets. “What’s past is past,” Ida’s auntie says, but escort? Man, it’s the now, the gritty, in-your-face hustle.

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First customer rolls in. It’s Babushka Oksana. She’s a regular, always wants the best cuts. “Give me the juiciest steak, my boy!” she says. I can’t help but smile. She’s like a grandma to me. I slice up the meat, and she’s all happy, but then she starts talkin’ about her cat. “You know, my Masha caught a mouse yesterday!” I’m like, “That’s great, Babushka, but I gotta chop this pork!”

RIP Alexander Akinin