The Cost of Living in Dnipro: A Month-End Tango

the map glints through my crumpled coffee cup as dnipro's edges blur like faded film, yet you think home's that far somewhere. i've got rent bills clawing at my bones, coffee expenses that taste like regret, and jobs that whisper 'redundant.' remember how we talked here about the cost? well, some tapas bars charge you in the currency of desperation, others hoard your paycheck like a fox in sausages. rent there climbs steep-three walls, a loaf of bread, a soul. but hey, what about the sun? it angles just 'cause you’re too busy counting drips. the subway’s a semi-state route; foot traffic laughs loudly, but i miss the subway subway here everywhere i repeat. i keep scribbling notes, trying to map this chaos into numbers, but it’s all a messy ballet. just remember: dnipro isn’t built by builders, it’s built by people who trade their future for paperclips. your money’s a currency with a feud, and i’m tending it like wine in direct sunlight. oh, and the weather’s been a nuisance-sudden fog rolls in like a bandage for rain. even my cat judges me from the windowsill. maybe next month’s budget’ll find a thread here somewhere, or i’ll resign and walk it off. just don’t let the nights bite too hard, or i’ll be stuck with a receipt as a coffin.

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