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About Mykolaiv

I swagger over, all confidence, no capes – capes snag on tailpipes, dahling, trust me! She’s smirkin’, cig hangin’ loose, and I’m like, “Hey, doll, you workin’?” She laughs – deep, throaty – and says, “What’s it to ya, shorty?” Shorty?! Me! Edna effin’ Mode! I’m fumin’ but also kinda lovin’ it – sassy broads are my kryptonite. Reminds me of Doc dealin’ with Shasta – “not hallucinating this, am I?” Nope, real as the oil under my nails.

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I finally find a café on Gagarina Street. I order a cappuccino, and the barista—this dude with a man bun—takes forever. I’m tapping my foot, getting angrier by the second. I mean, c’mon, it’s just coffee! I’m about to lose it when he hands me this tiny cup. I’m like, “Dude, I ordered a cappuccino, not a shot of espresso!”

London Celebrates Lag Ba’omer with Much Fanfare