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About Karaganda

So, I’m strollin’ down the street, right? Lookin’ for some action—not me doin’ it, mind ya, just curious! And I see this gal, all dolled up, skirt shorter than my temper. I’m like, “Well, halleluyer, she workin’ it!” Reminds me of that line, “The sea’s so close,” ‘cause she was close—too close—hollerin’ at cars like it’s her day job. Prolly is! I ain’t mad, tho, get yo money, boo! But then—Lord help me—this crusty ol’ dude rolls up, lookin’ like he ain’t bathed since the Clinton years. I’m screamin’ inside, “Why her?!” Made me madder than a wet hen!

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Finally, I get my food. It’s decent, but I’m already late for work. I dash out, and guess what? My phone buzzes. It’s my boss. “Where are you?” Ugh, I’m on my way! I sprint down to Kyzylzhar Street, dodging potholes like I’m in some kind of obstacle course. Bayanaul’s streets are a whole vibe, but man, they need some serious TLC.

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