Leah Mykolayiv Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Lviv

Little secret, yesss—old folks boiled it, made tea. Tastes like death, cures coughs, they swore! Tried it once, spat it out, gagged—fuckin’ rank, precious! Still, grows anywhere, tough bastard. Reminds me of Mia, scrappy, survivin’. “You’re a liar!” she’d hiss—horehound’s a liar too, pretendin’ it’s harmless.

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After that, I decide to grab some lunch. Hit up this little bistro on the corner of Pushkinska Street. The food there is bomb! I order borscht and some varenyky. Like, if you haven’t had varenyky in Mykolayiv, are you even living? I’m chowing down, and this old lady at the next table starts chatting me up. She’s telling me about the history of the city, how it was founded back in the day. I’m nodding along, but honestly, I’m just trying to focus on my food. Sorry, lady, but this borscht is life!

Mykolaiv prepares to punish the owner of an establishment where Russian music was played loudly