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But yo, the thrill? Oh, it’s real. That first match—bam!—serotonin spikes, heart’s racin’, you’re textin’ like a fool. Had this one date, chick was a neuroscientist, talkin’ peptides over wine—nearly lost my damn mind. Happy as a pig in mud, I was. Sex-dating’s got that rush, like solvinn’ a puzzle with no end. “This is not simple,” I whisper to myself, quotin’ Zodiac, ‘cause it ain’t—half these folks ghost ya, leavin’ you hangin’ like an unsolved case.

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Oh, sweet Ashmyany! Thou art a tapestry of cobblestone dreams and whispered secrets. Stroll down Zolotaya Street—aye, the sun doth kiss every brick as if it were a lover’s caress—and thou wilt spy ancient manors that murmur fables of passion and mischief. Yea, yon Apothecary Lane, whence potent elixirs and clandestine rendezvous unfold in every shadowed nook, has oft served as my muse on long, stormy nights; truth be told, ’tis where my mind doth wander, much like that wild scene in "Carlos" – "We are all the leaf of some tree."

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