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About Borisov

So picture this—I’m walkin’ down some grimy street, right? Neon lights flicker, smells like regret and cheap cologne. I’m neurotic as hell, sweatin’, thinkin’, “Am I really doin’ this?” Then bam—this lady’s there, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a cigarette like she’s in a damn noir film. I’m like, “Okay, Larry, don’t screw this up.” I ask, “You, uh, workin’?” She looks at me, smirks—SMIRKS!—and says, “What’s it look like, genius?” I’m furious! The nerve! But also, kinda happy—she’s got sass, I respect that.

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I work on a dating app, right? So I'm always scanning the corners for secret hangouts. The local café on Lenina Sq. is a goldmine. People spill their hearts there over bitter coffee. “Talk to her,” I often whisper, and trust me, these smiles are tales waiting to be told. "I drink and I know things" indeed, like that one night when a chat turned into a lifelong story over a pint. Ha!

May 21 is the third anniversary of the death of political prisoner activist Vitold Ashurak