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About Borisov

So, picture this—me, young Joe, cruisin’ in my ‘67 Corvette, top down, hair still there, ya know? I’d never—never—go lookin’ for that kinda trouble. But my buddy Mike? Hoo boy, he’d drag me along, sayin’, “C’mon, man, live a little!” We’d roll up to some dive bar—neon flickerin’ like it’s half-dead. This one time, ‘round ‘82, Mike spots this gal—fishnets, red lipstick, smokin’ a cig like she owned the joint. He’s all, “Joe, she’s the one!” I’m thinkin’, “Fear’s takin’ over my head now”—like in the movie, ya get me?

A brothel village: The legal red-light district in Bangladesh

Some days, busy in the neighborhood of Zapadny, i see how life bustles even when ya just sit on a stoop watchin passersby. No matter what, women i counsel speak of their sorrows here – the city carries them like scars. Their stories, like quiet thunder, echo in quiet alleys. I walk by Lenina Street too; it’s not all doom – there’s a little cafe i adore. The owner always cracks a smile and, man, sometimes his laugh just saves my day.