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So we talk—me leanin’ on a lamppost, her smokin’ a fag. “Memory is a curse,” I say, nickin’ from the movie. She nods, like she gets it. Life’s beaten her down, but she’s still kickin’. I exagerate in my head—she’s a femme fatale, playin’ me like a fiddle. Ha! As if. Truth is, she’s just tryin’ to eat.

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Later, I decided to grab some dinner. I went to this little spot on Hrushevskoho Street. The food there is bomb! I ordered borscht, and it was like a hug in a bowl. Seriously, I could’ve cried. But then, the waiter spilled it all over the table. I was like, “Dude, what’s with today?” But he just laughed it off. I guess it’s one of those days, huh?

Ukraine's H1 2023/24 beet sugar exports 60% higher YoY