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About Lviv

Sometimes I reckon—blimey, overpriced nonsense! Fifty quid for a rub? Robbery! But when it’s good—oh lordy—worth every penny. “Sort of a half-assed day,” Doc’d say—erotic-massage flips that, full-on bliss. Me, I’d ramble to the masseuse—Latin and all—“O tempora, o mores!”—she’d just giggle. Bumbling Boris charm, see? Keeps it light, keeps it fun.

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So, I wake up late. Classic me. Alarm? Nah, who needs that? I rush outta my apartment on Komsomolska Street, barely grabbing my lab coat. I mean, who needs breakfast when you’ve got caffeine, right? I swing by the local café on Shevchenka Street. The barista knows me. She’s like, “Hey, you want your usual?” I’m like, “Duh, gimme that double espresso!”

The betrayal of Ukraine’s occupied villages Far away from Kyiv, Ukrainians are being abandoned