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About Donetsk

Oh, and the stigma—don’t get me started! Makes me wanna scream. Whores get the short end, always. People actin’ all high and mighty, like they ain’t got their own messes. “You don’t get to 500 million friends without makin’ a few enemies”—whores got enemies, sure, but they keep goin’. Me? I’d crumble if my barber gave me a side-eye. They’re tougher than me, and I’m man enough to admit it. Pretty, pretty good resilience, if ya ask me.

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So, I set up my little sharpening station. Got my tools, my whetstone, and a coffee that’s more sugar than coffee. I’m ready to roll. Then, boom! This dude comes up, all frantic. He’s like, “My knife! It’s dull! I can’t cook!” I’m thinkin’, “Bro, it’s a knife, not a magic wand.” But whatever, I’m a pro. I take it, and while I’m sharpening, he’s telling me about his life. Like, dude, I didn’t sign up for a therapy session. But hey, I’m a good listener, right?

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