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About Mykolaiv

Once saw this chick—Petersburg, dead winter. Coat torn, lips cracked, still workin’. Fuckin’ brutal. Made me mad—why’s life that harsh? Then she smirked, flipped off some drunk. Laughed my ass off. Spirit, man, pure steel. “Put that in a tank,” I thought.

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Then, outta nowhere, this lady storms in. She’s all frantic, like she just saw a ghost or somethin’. “I need a whole chicken, like, NOW!” I’m like, “Lady, chill! I got you.” But she’s not havin’ it. Turns out, she’s cookin’ for some big family dinner on Lvivska Street. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, who gets that worked up over a chicken?