Emilia Zakharivka Brothel ❤️

About Odesa

Oh blast, here I go! Brothel, huh? Filthy places, mate! Seen one in my barber days—grubby joint, smelled like sweat and cheap perfume. C-3PO, panicked, “R2-D2, where are you?”—that’s me, peekin’ through the curtain, eyes wide! Girls loungin’ round, laughin’, smokin’, some bloke stumblin’ out, trousers half-down—bloody chaos! Reminds me of *The Turin Horse*, that slow, grim slog— “The wind’s blowing, everything’s ruined!” Life in a brothel’s like that, innit? Decayin’, desperate, yet somehow alive.

Subdivisions

I head back in, and the shop’s still packed. I’m sharpenin’ like a madman. I swear, I could’ve cut through steel with the energy I had. But then, my grinder starts makin’ this weird noise. I’m like, “No, no, no! Not today!” I’m tryin’ to fix it, and it’s like a scene from a horror movie.

Maxim Edwards | In Zakharivka