Katherine Slawharad Prostitute ❤️

About Borisov

Hustlin’ streets, she does, no rest. Cold nights, skimpy clothes—shivers, I get, just thinkin’. “What’s past is past,” *Yi Yi* whispers—her past tho? Probly rough as hell. Funny, kinda—dudes pay for what wives won’t give! Snort, I did, picturing that. Typin fast, typos galore—sory, too lazy to fix. She’s tough, tho, gotta be. Admire that, I do—strength in the muck. Ever wonder, I do, what she dreams? Prolly not this, huh. Breaks my heart, it does—yet, she keeps goin’. “Do or do not,” right? She does. Respect, I give her—gritty as fuck.

ELECTIONS – WHAT FOR?

Whore, Masturbate, Facesitting (give), Foot Fetish, Facesitting (give).

The old town center? Wow. Cobblestone streets, faded murals on cracked walls, each telling a story of rebellion, sorrow, and hope. Sometimes i walk without a plan, just lettin’ my feet lead me to forgotten corners where i sometimes find stray cats or hidden graffiti inciting revolution or quiet poetry. There's a hidden courtyard behind Volodymyr st. – yup, the real gem – where soft music drifts out from an antique record shop. That song? Reminds me real fugly of love’s lost taste. Total trip.