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About Kyiv

Oh, and the church—don’t get me started! They’d burn a “whore” quick, but half them priests were smashin’ on the low. Makes me wanna flip a table, scream, “YOU FAKE ASS GLEANERS!” Varda’d nod, like, “The world bends what it can’t break.” She’d film that hypocrisy, slow-mo, with some sad-ass violin. Me? I’d just yeet a chair at it.

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So, I wake up, right? Sun’s blazin’ through my window. I’m thinkin’, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Ha! Not even close. I hit the streets, and first thing I notice is the smell of fresh bread from that bakery on Soborna Street. You know the one? Best stuff ever. I grab a loaf, thinking I’m gonna have a nice breakfast. But nah, life had other plans.

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