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About Tiraspol

I tried it once, swear to Christ. Down on Route 9, this chick, hands like a goddamn angel—or a devil, dependin’ how ya look at it. She’s kneadin’ me, and I’m like, “This is fuckin’ heaven,” but then—surprise!—it’s more than I bargained for. Got me thinkin’, “I’m not just a number here!”—like Tony in the movie, ya know, not *my* Tony, the other guy. Made me happy as hell, but pissed too, ‘cause I shelled out fifty extra bucks! Fifty! For what? A happy endin’? Fuckin’ robbery, but worth it, I ain’t gonna lie.

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The volunteers will learn how to eat healthy, how to do efficient sport, how to make a massage as treatment, what are the benefits of the medical gymnastics and.

Finally, I get to the office on Strada Mihai Eminescu. I’m all pumped, ready to dive into my work. But guess what? My computer decides to crash. Ugh! I’m like, “Really? Today of all days?” I could’ve screamed. Instead, I just stared at the screen like it owed me money.

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