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About Mariupol

But—oh, here’s the kicker—some twat tries stealin’ my pouch! “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” I roar, swingin’ my staff like a madman. She’s cacklin’, “Bloody hell, grandad!”—and I’m half-angry, half-proud. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but it felt epic, like facin’ a Balrog. We split a kvas I brewed—fizzy as hope in that film. “To life,” she toasts, and I’m thinkin’, “Even in despair, there’s this.”

The Boardroom

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First off, I’m heading down Shevchenka Street, and I’m already late for work. Classic me. I’m dodging potholes like they’re landmines. Kolinkivtsy’s streets are like a game of Mario Kart, but without the fun. I swear, if I hit one more bump, I’m gonna lose my coffee. And let me tell ya, that coffee is LIFE.