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Me? I’d cruise slow, real slow. Like Lucrecia drivin’ after that crash. “I hit something,” she mumbles. That’s me—spot a girl, wonderin’. Is she legit? Or a trap? Pisses me off when cops lurk. Ruins the whole gig, man. Once saw this chick—tall, badass boots. Thought, “Damn, she’s fine.” Then—boom—undercover. Felt like the Emperor screwed me over. Hate that crap.

Zakharivka

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I start workin’ on this old knife. It’s rusty, like it’s been through a war or somethin’. I’m grindin’ away, and this dude walks in. He’s all like, “Yo, can you make my knife sharper than my ex’s tongue?” I laugh, but inside I’m like, “Dude, that’s a tall order.”

General Staff on the situation at the front: the hottest in the Pokrovsky and Novopavlovsky directions