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About Mariupol

Oi mate, lemme tell ya ‘bout findin’ a prossie, right? Mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!” – it’s like Mulholland Drive, innit? All twisty, dark, an’ fucked up. You’re cruisin’ down some dodgy street, lights flashin’, head spinnin’ like Betty tryna figure out who she is. I reckon it’s a mad trip, yeah? Been an agronomist, I know dirt – this is filthier, haha!

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First customer rolls in. It’s Babushka Oksana. She’s a regular, always wants the best cuts. “Give me the juiciest steak, my boy!” she says. I can’t help but smile. She’s like a grandma to me. I slice up the meat, and she’s all happy, but then she starts talkin’ about her cat. “You know, my Masha caught a mouse yesterday!” I’m like, “That’s great, Babushka, but I gotta chop this pork!”

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