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I got mad tho—some places, they trick ya! Sign says “erotic-massage,” but it’s just a quick rub, no soul, no spice! False advertisin’, I tell ya—pisses me off worse’n a wet sock! But when it’s good? Hoo boy, it’s like, “Call it, friendo,” and I’m callin’ it heaven! Fun fact—heard some masseuses train years, studyin’ pressure points, makin’ it science *and* art. Blows my mind!

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Later, I decided to grab a drink at this little café on Haharina Street. The vibe was chill, and I thought, “Finally, some peace.” But nope! The barista was a total character. He had this wild hair and a mustache that could rival any warrior’s beard. He starts telling me about his dreams of becoming a rock star. I’m like, “Dude, you’re making coffee, not music!” But I couldn’t help but laugh. He was passionate, and that’s what counts, right?

Yehor Yarmoliuk