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About Odesa

I’d be stitchin’ up a tabby, and she’d pop in—askin’ for flea meds! For HERSELF! I hollered, “GURL, I ain’t that kinda doctor!” Made me mad as a wet hen—tryna use my vet skills for her itchy situation! But I laughed too, ‘cause she bold. Hella bold. Little known fact: she once paid me with a half-eaten pork chop. Swear on my granny’s grave! Said it was “good faith.” I was like, “Faith don’t fry, honey!”

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First off, I’m rollin’ down Kirova Street, and it’s like a scene from a movie. The buildings are all crumbling, but there’s this weird beauty to it. Like, how can something so broken feel so alive? I’m thinkin’ about that as I dodge potholes like they’re landmines.

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