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But—here’s wot gets me blood boilin’—some prudes call it dirty! Dirty? It’s art, ye bilge rats! Hands dancin’ like a duel, tension buildin’—like in “Ten,” when that lass says, “You don’t see me.” Aye, ye don’t *see* the magic ‘til it hits ye! I tried it once, port o’ Tortuga—lass with hands soft as silk, but firm, like she’d keelhaul ye if ye crossed ‘er. Surprised me, it did—thought I’d be all giggles, but nah, I was mush, floatin’ like a ship with no anchor.

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Anyway, I finally made it to the market on Shevchenka Street. It was buzzing! Vendors shouting, people haggling, and the smell of fresh borscht wafting through the air. I was like, “Yasss, give me all the food!” But then, I saw this old lady selling flowers. She had the most beautiful sunflowers. I bought one, and it made my day. Like, who doesn’t love sunflowers?

Ukrainian journalists share stories of courage, survival and atrocities