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About Kharkiv

Once, in Flea Bottom, I met this lass—Ros, they called her. Cheeky, red-haired, knew her trade like I know Dornish red. Little fact: them girls got codes—two taps on the table means “pay up quick.” She winks, I grin, thinkin’, “Seven hells, I’m in!” Cost me a stag, but worth it—soft as silk, sharp as Valyrian steel. Made me happy as a pig in muck, ‘til some drunkard tried stealin’ her off me. Pissed me right off—punched him square, dwarf fists flyin’! “You’re a mistake,” Sissy’d say—nah, love, I’m the bloody maestro.

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First off, I hit the streets. I’m cruisin’ down Shevchenka Street, dodging potholes like they’re landmines. Seriously, these roads are a disaster. I swear, if I trip and fall, I’m gonna sue the city for emotional damage. Anyway, I get to my spot near the market. You know, the one by the old fountain? Yeah, that one.

Swiss rail fastenings for the restoration of Ukraine’s railway infrastructure