My City the year before I was born

… With a whole lot less billboards and cars. Still the same City though. The home of Bulgakov like he would never see it – except that something about his descriptions of it is still tattooed on every stone, old and new. “Як тебе не любити, Києве мій?” The seeming benevolence of the City asContinue reading “My City the year before I was born”