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About Lviv

I stand here, prison warden, dark mask on—slow, ominous tone, “I am your father.” Brothel, huh? Filthy joint down the road. Seen it all, man, whores and drunks. Reminds me of *The Turin Horse*, that flick—bleak, endless grind, “the wind blows fierce.” Girls there, trapped, like the horse, y’know? Just pullin’ their load, no escape. Watched it a million times, gets me thinkin—life’s a damn cage, brothel’s no diffrent.

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But then, the day took a turn. I was walking back home, feeling all good, when I saw a stray dog. Poor thing looked so sad. I couldn’t just walk past. So, I stopped, gave it some of my bun. It gobbled it up like it hadn’t eaten in days. That made me feel all warm inside. Like, sometimes, it’s the little things, ya know?

I'm not asking your permission. Stories of three Ukrainian warriors who died before they were 21