Breakfast at Kompot. Two elderly Americans sat at the table behind. "He's a fucking sailor," said one, "falls in love the second he's off the ship." "I'm flying to Italy later," said the other, "but if there's nothing happening I might come back."
I did a loop of all the usual places: Gor Sad, the Opera House, Primorsky and the Potemkin Steps, Novy Rynok, a beer on Deribasovska. Doors were all open and everyone was sitting outside. "I'll never see you again" blasted out of a cafe window.