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About Lviv

So, escort, huh? I’m talkin’ them hired buddies, not the Ford car, though that’d be a hoot too! Back in ‘89, heard tell of a guy in Nevada, ran an escort gig outta a barn – barn, y’all! Cops busted him faster’n a jackrabbit on moonshine. Made me laugh ‘til I near rusted my blades! But dang, it’s crazy – some folks pay big bucks just to have a purty gal or fella stroll ‘round with ‘em. Ain’t that a kick in the pants?

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Finally, I sit down to work on that violin again. I’m focused, right? But then, my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Taras. He’s like, “Hey, let’s hit up that new café on Lvivska Street!” I’m torn. I wanna finish this violin, but coffee? I mean, c’mon! So, I grab my stuff and head out.

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