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But then—then!—she starts talkin’ ‘bout “energy flow.” What in seven hells? I’m here for a rubdown, not a sermon! Made me mad, that. I don’t need chi or whatever—she’s not fixin’ my soul. “The point is—I’m tense!” I snap, channelin’ Larry’s whiny arse. She smirks—smirks!—and digs deeper. Oof, that hurt. But good hurt, y’know? Like when you drink too much and still feel clever.

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So, I duck into this café on Lvivska Street. Best coffee in town, no joke. I order a cappuccino, and the barista, this cool dude named Taras, gives me a free pastry. I’m like, “What’s the catch?” He just winks and says, “You look like you need it.” I mean, he’s not wrong. I’m sitting there, munching on this pastry, feeling like a king.

Ukrainian war amputee fights his way to Paralympics in Paris