On almost getting laid in Belarus.

Belarus. Two years ago. No. Three. I’m wandering her streets in a pair of Red Wing boots so new they moo with each step. Their thick, sturdy leather carve canyons in my heels and ankles that bleed and then scab over then bleed and scab over again.

The salesman back in Tennessee who sold them to me warned not to worry. The bleeding and the scabbing and the tenderness is me earning them. I add another…