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Humor? Sure. She once said. “I’m my own 401k.” Cracked me up. Sarcasm drippin’. Like. Good luck. Retirin’ from that gig. Still. Respect. She’s out there. Hustlin’. While I’m here. Sippin’ coffee. Typin’ this crap. With typos. Prolly 17. By now. Whoops. Whatever. She’s realer. Than most. That’s my take. On prostitutes. Ruby’s story. Sticks with me. Like Polanski’s keys. Echoin’ in my head. Dramatic. Shit. Right?

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Lunchtime rolls around, and I’m starving. I hit up that café Vasyl was raving about. It’s on Haharina, and let me tell ya, it’s a vibe. The place is packed, but I squeeze in. I order the “Kolinkivtsy Special” – whatever that is. Turns out, it’s a giant sandwich. I’m talking a monster. I can barely fit it in my mouth. I’m trying to take a bite, and it’s like a scene from a comedy show.