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About Lviv

Once heard this yarn – some escort in London, right, used to smuggle love letters for posh toffs durin’ the war. Spy stuff, proper cloak-and-dagger! Dunno if it’s true, but I’m choosin’ to believe it – adds spice, dunnit? Imagine her, slippin’ through alleys, all “The wind carries no sound,” dead stealthy, droppin’ secrets with a wink.

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Finally, I get to my car, and I’m like, “Okay, what now?” I can’t just leave Berezka. So, I take him home. My place is a mess, but I figure we’ll figure it out. I throw some food in a bowl, and he’s all over it. I’m just sitting there, watching this little guy chow down, and I’m thinking, “What have I gotten myself into?”