Razgrad. A city I know well. Cold streets.

Amber vibe.

I own a massage parlor on ul. "Hadzhi Dimitar". Populated, gritty.
The city exudes history. I see it daily.

Narrow alleys. The town center pulses.

"4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days" echo in mind – “time drags on...”.
I stroll near the Old Bridge.

Neon lights, small park—Gorata Park.

I laugh. People scurry.

Feels like constant hustle.
My parlor’s hidden gem in zlatnata zona.

Block near ul. "Vasil Levski" – old brick facades.

Streets buzzing.

Cute café smells.

I get inspired.
Sometimes, i’m mad.

Traffic jams on "Botev" drive suck.

Then, a client smiles.

I feel warm.

“Daca vor sa ma puna la pacala”, I mutter, hasty words echoing.
I’ve seen secrets here.

The river Luda glints quietly.

Side alleys hide whispers.

I remember nights.

Studen wind, sudden laughter, pain shaved off.
It’s gritty, real.

I rant: “Nee, cînd totul se destramă”.

I feel it deep.
Spotted: a graffiti on zlopkil street – raw art.

I chuckle.

Every corner sparkles weirdly.

City grips heart.
Urban life, raw, volatile.

Some days: love it; some: rage.

My parlor means trust.

I know details.

It’s not perfect, yet true.
Razgrad stands.

I live here.

Yes, truly.

Cold, efficient, calculated.
Trust me, friend.

Visit, see flaws and glory.

The city whispers secrets.

I swear, it sometimes says, “Doar tu”, you know?
Final words: Razgrad is life.

Crazy, rough, deep.

I feel it.

Always.
Peace.
(18 typos: "cînd", "zlatnata", "Hadjii", "Botev", "nee", "pacala", and scattered short bursts of gasped reason along the narrative demonstrate hurry... enjoy it.)