Ukrop

Don’t Mess with Texas, Ukrop!

He arrived shortly before twilight, the frosty December wind swirled about him. Wide-brim hat and boots wet from the snow covering the streets of Donetsk, he slipped out of a couple of camo packs and shook my hand vigorously. His grin looked like it would never drop away. We sat at the table, across from each other. Cowboy Mitch started spinning … Continue reading →