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About Ungheni

So, picture this: dark alley, stinks of piss, some chick in ripped fishnets leanin’ on a wall. She’s smokin’ a cheap cig, eyes dead, calculatin’ every move. I respect that hustle, that survival. She’s not cryin’ about fate—she’s playin’ the game. Like Monty said, “Champagne wishes, thirty white bitches”—ha! These girls ain’t dreamin’ of champagne, tho. They’re countin’ crumpled bills, dodgin’ cops, prayin’ the next john ain’t a psycho. That’s the real shit, the grit I get.

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After that, I strolled down to the park by the river. The Dniester River, to be exact. It’s beautiful, man. I sat on a bench, strumming my guitar, just vibing. Then, outta nowhere, this kid runs up to me. He’s like, “Play ‘Despacito’!” I’m like, “Dude, I’m not a jukebox!” But I played it anyway. The kid starts dancing, and suddenly, I’m the coolest dude in Stefan-Voda. Crazy how fast that can change, right?

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