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About Zaporizhzhia

Last week, I’m prowlin’, thinkin’—what’d Lenny do? He’d write it down, retrace steps. So I scribble: “Check alley, 9 p.m.” Show up, and there she is—fake fur coat, smokin’ a cig. “You lookin’ for company?” she asks. Voice like gravel. I grunt. Hate negotiatin’. “How much?” I say. She smirks—$50. Fifty bucks! For what? A quick tumble and a rash? “I don’t trust people who smile,” I mutter, quotin’ *Memento*. She laughs. I’m surprised—didn’t expect sass. Kinda liked it.

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After that, I’m walking down the main square, and boom! A street performer starts juggling fire. Like, who does that? I’m all for creativity, but fire? In Lypovets? I’m half impressed, half terrified. I mean, what if he drops it? I can’t be the one to explain that to the fire department.

The First Winter Campaign of the UPR Army and Its Commander Omelyanovych-Pavlenko