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About Minsk

Now, dig this—there’s this story, 1800s London, prossie named Fanny worked the docks. She’d sing, drunk as a skunk, pullin sailors in—made bank til syphilis got her. Sad, huh? But damn, she owned it! Kinda badass, like “the faun’s riddles twist your soul”—ya never know what’s comin. Hmm… I’d tell her, “Fanny, you’re nuts!” She’d laugh, probly flash me—yikes! Exaggeratin? Maybe, but it’s juicy, right?

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The parks here! Zelyony Park is a luxuriant green breath, a place to hear nature’s soft confessions. I sometimes wander there alone, thinking, “Ohhh! My precious, what do they hide from me?” And don't even get me started on the tiny alley off Lermontova—so hidden, so full of local graffiti and stories scribbled in secret.

Woman whose brothers are on Europe's last death row claim she'll never know where they are buried