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About Mykolaiv

Alright, mate, listen up—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.” I’m sittin’ here, strummin’ my guitar, thinkin’ bout prostitutes, yeah? Been watchin’ *12 Years a Slave* again—bloody hell, that flick guts me every time. Solomon’s chains, man, they rattle in my skull. Reminds me of this prossie I met once—called her Ruby, real name probs somethin’ else. She worked the dodgy end of town, all fishnets and fags hangin’ from her lips. “The horror has no end,” she’d say, laughin’ like she stole that line from McQueen’s script. Fuckin’ haunting, that.

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Most men riding their bikes alone in some streets in Ho Chi Minh City would find themselves the target of these sex solicitations in public, regardless whether it is during day time or night. Part .

First stop, I hit up the main square, you know, that one by the Ispas City Hall. It’s always buzzing. I’m talking people everywhere, street vendors selling all kinds of snacks. I grab a пиріжок (that’s a pastry, for ya non-Ukrainians) and it’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth. I’m happy, right? But then, bam! A pigeon swoops down and tries to steal my food! Like, dude, chill! It’s not your breakfast!

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