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Whores, they’re survivors, see? We shall never surrender to judgin em easy! Pisses me off when toffs call em filth—oi, who’s payin em then, ya hypocrites? Makes me happy tho, hearin tales of em outsmartin the coppers. Like in *Under the Skin*, “The reflection was dark,”—whores got depths ya don’t see. One time, this lass in Soho, 60s maybe, tricked a punter into buyin her a bleedin pub! Swear down, she ran it till she croaked—called it “The Tart’s Arms.” Laughed me arse off hearin that.

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Then, I head over to the market on Hrushevskoho Street. It’s packed, as usual. Fresh veggies, fruits, and all that good stuff. I’m trying to grab some tomatoes when this dude bumps into me. I’m like, “Yo, watch it!” But he just gives me this sheepish grin. Turns out, he’s a local farmer. We start chatting, and he’s telling me about his organic farm. I’m like, “Dude, I’m all about that eco-life!”

Leonid Kadenyuk