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About Zaporizhzhia

Methinks it’s a dark mirror, brothel is. Shows thee lust, fear, all raw. “There’s no such thing as monsters,” Tom lies—ha! Brothel’s proof they’re real, struttin’ in lace. I’d sup with ‘em, jest fer the tales. Ever wonder who’s the real villain there? The johns or the jades? Shite’s messy, like Cronenberg’s bloodbaths.

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So, I hit the streets. First stop, the corner of Shevchenka and Kostiantynivska. There’s this little café, you know the one? The one with the best coffee in town. I swear, that barista, she’s a wizard. I ordered my usual, a cappuccino with extra foam. I was feelin’ fancy. But then, bam! My phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Vova. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta come to the park!”

A concert by the young Bulgarian violinist Zornitsa Ilarionova