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About Dnipro

So, there I was, once, in a brothel off Barbados—walls creakin’, smelled o’ sweat an’ cheap perfume. Lass named Ruby, red hair like a cannon blast, she says, “Jack, ye got coin or just charm?” I flash me grin, “Why not both, luv?” She laughs—made me happy, that did! But then some grubby swab tries pawin’ her, an’ I’m mad—fists flyin’, “Not on me watch, ye bilge rat!” Brothels, they’re a stage, see? Everythin’s a performance, like lil’ Penny Lane twirlin’ through life.

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After that, I needed to clear my head. I strolled down to the park by the river. The Dniester River, you know? It’s pretty, but today it was like a mirror reflecting my chaotic thoughts. I sat on a bench, trying to breathe. Then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by, chasing a soccer ball. He kicks it, and guess where it lands? Right in my lap! I’m like, “Is this a sign? Am I supposed to join a soccer team now?”

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