Day 785
Tulips
War tourists were everywhere on a rainy morning downtown in Kyiv, dressed in costly khaki pants outfits, mid-fifties, Glenn Corn outtakes, moving in groups, smoking not to look bored, on vac, followed by vloggers1.
(Why is it so easy to dislike former senior CIA executives conspicuously “legendary” fucktards bumbling around Kyiv?2 Just the sound of a pack of monied amigos – oh Glenn you’re wicked, see you half-six Craig Jones – is mortifying, the phalanxes of unshaven half-gaping faces with polydirectional teeth and the tittering air of distaste for how painfully alien and unhip this all is, rather, is just so ick.)
