Penelope Zbarazh Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

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Dunno why I’m even here—curiosity, I reckon. Prozzies got their own code, tho—did ya know some use secret hand signals? Like spies, mate! Blows my circuits. Anyway, she’s laughin at me, callin me “golden boy”—cheeky tart. I’m all, “I’m not built for this!” but she’s like, “Relax, it’s just business.” Business my arse—feels like a bloody op gone sideways. “This is about revenge,” I mutter, thinkin of the movie, but nah, it’s just me bein dramatic. Hah, imagine me tellin Vader bout this—reckon he’d choke me out for fun.

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Then I hit up the market on Hrushevskoho Street. OMG, the chaos! People everywhere, yelling about fresh veggies and homemade cheese. I’m just trying to grab some tomatoes, and this babushka starts arguing with the vendor. I’m standing there, like, “Chill, lady! It’s just a tomato!” But she’s not having it. Classic Zbarazh drama, I guess.

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