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About Mariupol

I’ve seen it, ya know—shady parlors off Route 66, neon buzzin’ like flies on a corpse. Once knew a guy, Tony, greasy little mechanic—swore he got “enlightened” by some chick’s “magic hands.” Bullshit! Looked more like he’d been wrestled by a trucker. Made me laugh so hard I nearly choked on my chianti. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d quip—Tony’d just stare, clueless(\'cept he didn’t get it, the dumb lug).

Masters of the studio

The annual playwriting festival Lyubimovka is first held at the old family estate of Konstantin Stanislavski. The Debut Center at.

But then, outta nowhere, I see this kid flying a kite. And not just any kite—a giant dragon kite! I mean, who even does that? I was so surprised, I almost dropped my phone. I snapped a pic, thinking, “This is gonna be my Instagram moment.” But then, the wind picked up, and the kite got tangled in a tree. Classic. The kid was crying, and I felt for him. I mean, I’ve had my fair share of epic fails, right?

Fuel oil from Russian sunken tankers washed up on beach near Sevastopol