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About Mykolaiv

So, I’m strollin’, trip over me shoelace—whack!—faceplant! Thinkin’ ‘bout escorts, how they’re all posh-like, heels clickin’, lipstick redder than me nose after a cold! But—ooh!—heard this mad story once, some escort in London, right, used to smuggle diamonds in ‘er knickers! True story, mate, swear it! Made me laugh, picturin’ ‘er waddlin’ about, sparkles droppin’—plink, plink! Angry though, ‘cos some punters treat ‘em like dirt—oi, that’s not on! “I am alive,” like the film says, they’re people too, yeah?

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But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs into me. Like, full-on tackle mode. I spill my food everywhere! I’m standing there, varenyky on my shoes, and I’m like, “Really, kid?!” But he just laughs and runs off. I can’t even be mad. Kids, man.

‘It’s important that we go back’