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About Kryvyi Rih

So, escort—Ford Escort, right? That lil’ car’s a legend, bro. Born in the ‘60s, Europe’s baby, not some American muscle flex. Tiny, scrappy, like Amélie dodgin’ her own damn feelings. I’m obsessed! Picture this: me, drivin’ an Escort, blastin’ through Paris, yellin’, “Zut alors! I’m late for love!” like some unhinged line from the flick. That car’s got soul, man—zippy, cheap, gets you laid if you play it right. Ha! Nah, for real, it’s practical as fuck—perfect for a broke-ass dreamer like me.

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After the meeting, I decide to take a stroll down to the park. You know, the one by the river? It’s usually chill, but today? Packed! Families everywhere, kids running around. I’m just trying to enjoy the view, but then I see this kid with a balloon. And guess what? He lets it go. I’m standing there, watching this balloon float away, and I’m like, “That’s it, kid. Your dreams are gone.”

Monument honoring Hero Oleksandr Matsiyevsky unveiled in Chernihiv Oblast