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About Mariupol

I’m sittin’ there, pole shakin’, thinkin’, “Do I holler at her?” My heart’s racin’ like a catfish on a line—happy, scared, all at once. She winks, and I’m redder than a boiled crawdad. I mutter, “What can I do for you?”—straight outta Gigolo Joe’s playbook! She laughs, says, “Honey, I ain’t cheap, but I’m fun!” I’m thinkin’, “Lord, I only got worms and a soggy sammich!” Ain’t that just my luck? Here I am, big dreamer, no cash, just a pole and a prayer.

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But then, I hear this loud noise. It’s a bunch of kids playin’ soccer in the street. They’re kickin’ the ball around like it’s the World Cup. One of ‘em kicks it too hard, and BAM! Right through my shop window! Glass everywhere! I’m fumin’. “Hey! Watch where you kick that thing!” They just laugh and run off. Kids these days, I swear.

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