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About Mykolaiv

Sarcasm, I drip—oh, noble profession, escort is, says no one ever. Still, respect I got—survive they do, in a galaxy of hypocrites. “I’m CEO, bitch,” they could snap, flipping tables like Mark. Disorderly, my mind—escort’s hot, messy, real. U try it? Nah, me neither—too old, I am! Hrmm, fun to gab tho—u get me, pal?

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So, I’m cruising down Shevchenka Street, thinking I’m all set for the day. But then, boom! My phone buzzes. It’s my driver, Vasyl. He’s stuck in traffic on the bridge over the Dniester. I’m like, “Dude, it’s 8 AM! How is there traffic already?” Turns out, some guy decided to have a picnic on the road. A picnic! Like, who does that? I’m fuming. I mean, I get it, Chemerivtsi is beautiful, but come on, man!