Пжсть, Що and Бълын.
October 12th 2007 Kyiv has been busy but peaceful in the time since I last wrote, and the still air each morning has become cold enough to pinch my lungs as I push open the heavy metal door and leave my building. The city is gradually beginning to feel like home, and there is even a positive side to my claustrophobic journey to work on the number 439 marshrutka: the girl next to me was listening to Zemfira a
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