Emily Monastyryska Brothel ❤️❤️

About Lviv

Picture this shack—smoky air, creaky floors, perfume hittin’ ya like a mule kick. Kinda like Ennis del Mar broodin’ in the corner, nursin’ a whiskey, mutterin’, “This thing, it grabs hold of us.” ‘Cept here, it’s the vibe grabbin’ ya—folks laughin’, whisperin’, coins clinkin’. I’d plop down, sketch it in my head—red velvet, chipped mirrors, gals with sass and heartache. One time, heard a yarn ‘bout a brothel in Nevada—legal joint, right?—where a cowboy proposed to a gal mid-session. She said no, kept his hat tho—savage!

Monastyryska

Man, what a day! I swear, if I had a dollar for every crazy thing that happened in Monastyryska today, I’d be rich. So, I roll outta bed, right? It’s like 7 AM, and I’m already feelin’ the weight of the world. I grab my coffee from that little kiosk on Shevchenka Street. You know the one? The barista there is a legend. She knows my order by heart.

Sawkiw, Harry