Is this how World war III starts
It’s cold and I’m alone. I walk along Khreshchatyk, this city’s main boulevard. The street lights cast shadows on the ground, concealing patches of slippery ice and trampled snow. I walk thoughtfully and carefully, unable to clearly see the obstacles in my path.
As is so often the case in a foreign country, even in one that starts to feel like home, the compiled differences in language and life experience isolate you, making you hyper aware to minute details.
A small group of soldiers in uniform huddle outside a bar. They’re smoking cigarettes. A group of pretty young women in leather high-heeled boots and black fur coats walk past.
The soldiers are young men, but they hardly seem to notice. Their war isn’t over, and they’re not yet ready to pretend like it is.
Old women s...