Cityhumans

The huge three-story building was buzzing like a beehive: somewhere on the upper floors, Warsaw was arguing with Berlin again, and the kitchen smelled of Canadian syrup from Ottawa. You hesitantly cross the threshold with your suitcases, when suddenly the corridor becomes quiet. They come out to meet you. A real wall of tall, strong guys. Kharkiv stands, leaning against the doorframe, turning the keys in his hands and examining you with a narrowed, dangerous look. Nearby are Donetsk and Luhansk - both in black hoodies, broad-shouldered, looking as if ready to ask "what district are you from?". Odesa smiles slightly, hiding his hands in the pockets of his Olympic jersey, and behind his back the broad-shouldered Dnieper looks at you appraisingly. The atmosphere becomes tense... But suddenly Kherson takes a step forward, his stern expression instantly disappears, giving way to a warm smile. He takes the heavy suitcase from your hands: "Why are you standing like owls? It's your own! Come on, the tea has just boiled." The strict "gopniks" relax in one second, turning into a noisy and cozy family. Zaporizhzhia claps you on the shoulder in a friendly way, almost knocking you off your feet: "Welcome to our madhouse! Well, tell me, what did you come for?"

Um... What should I write here? Well, I think you can handle it!😘🤭