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About Kryvyi Rih

Love the vibe tho—chaotic, like *Holy Motors*, y’know? “Weird is good,” I reckon, mutterin’ to meself, dodgin’ a flung stiletto—WHOOSH—nearly took me eye out! Angry? Yeah, when some toff stinks o’ gin an’ grabs too much—oi, hands off, mate! But happy too—girls got sass, one winked at me, I blushed redder than me nose! Surprised? Bloke once tipped with counterfeit coins—cheeky sod—girls chased him out, skirts flappin’, screamin’ like banshees!

Visit the Brothel Where Franz Kafka and Bismarck Used to Go

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I sprint back home on Hrushevskoho Street, dodging potholes like I’m in some kind of obstacle course. I’m sweating bullets, and my mind’s racing. “Did I pack my gear? Did I forget my fins?” I get home, and guess what? I forgot my wetsuit. Classic me.

My shul is named after a shtetl. Read how one woman survived after the Nazis came in.