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About Kyiv

Oi mate, so I’m a detective, yeah? Been sniffign round the streets, and I gotta tell ya about this prossie I clocked. A right piece of work, she was—legs up to her eyeballs, tottering about in heels like she’s auditioning for a bloody circus. Reminds me of *The Pianist*, that flick I love—y’know, Polanski’s 2002 gem. Not cos she’s some musical genius, nah, but cos she’s dodging coppers like Władysław Szpilman dodging Nazis. “I’m not going anywhere!” she’d screech, like she’s quoting the film, but nah, just drunk and lippy.

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But then, someone starts singing. Like, full-on karaoke in the dark! It’s this random dude, and he’s belting out some classic Ukrainian song. Everyone joins in, and suddenly, it’s a party! I’m laughing, singing, and forgetting all about my muddy clothes.

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