Olivia Nisporeni Brothel ❤️

About Ungheni

Me, I’d waltz in, smirkin’, “I’m not sayin’ I’m a god, but worship me anyway.” The vibe? Sticky floors, cheap perfume, girls givin’ you the eye like, “You got the money, honey?” It’s a circus—hustlers, dreamers, creeps. Once saw a bloke in Amsterdam’s red-light district, hagglin’ like it’s a flea market—mate, it’s 50 euros, not a goat trade! Pissed me off, cheap bastard. But then, this lass, all sass, told him, “Fuck off, I’m priceless.” Had to clap for her—queen shit right there.

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After work, I decide to take a stroll down Strada Stefan Cel Mare. The sun’s setting, and the sky is all pink and orange. It’s beautiful, right? But then, I see this guy trying to parallel park. He’s all over the place, like he’s never seen a car before. I’m standing there, laughing, thinking, “Bro, it’s not rocket science!” Finally, he nails it, and I’m like, “Okay, maybe he’s a parking prodigy.”

All Roma children must attend school; this is the only hope they have to a better future