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About Kharkiv

Little fact, right? Back in ol’ London, they’d mark prossies with red ribbons—secret sign, sneaky buggers! Ain’t that mad? She probs don’t know that, but I’m thinkin’ it, sizin’ her up. “What’s thy price, fair shadow?” I ask, all poetic-like. She laughs—bloody hell, it’s music! “More’n thou canst dream,” she says, noddin’ to me purse. I’m skint, ain’t I? Fumin’ at meself—shoulda nabbed more coin!

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After that, I hit up the market on Shevchenka Street. It’s always buzzing with people. I’m browsing through some fresh veggies when this old lady starts yelling at a vendor. Apparently, he sold her rotten tomatoes. I mean, who does that? She was going off, waving her hands like she was conducting an orchestra. I was half-expecting her to throw a tomato at him!

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