Chapter Thirty-Nine
Fuck me. Somehow, I can smell it without even taking in breaths.
Better make this quick.
I run in, ignoring the worried calls of the hostess. What does she think, that I’m trying some sort of swelter-and-dash maneuver?
Thirty seconds into the banya’s interior, I can’t help but suck in a breath.
My eyes water, and it takes all my willpower not to puke.
It’s official.
Taranka smell is worse than putting your nose under the tail of the stinkiest skunk in the history of skunks. Worse than rotten eggs, onion bread, and Black Swan’s (or should I say Crusty v****a’s) perfumed armpits—combined.
My legs feel heavy from the lack of oxygen.
With the heroic effort of a triathlete approaching the finish line, I keep going.
In the distance, I spot a towel rack. Behind me, t
