The Kiev Restaurant opened in the late-70s. 24 hours. We went there after CBGBs, Max's, and the Mudd Club. Bacon and eggs as the dawn broke the morn. It was a scene. I had a fight over a tape recorder with Samo and discussed a photo-roman with Klaus Nomi. They went from obscurity to fame. I stopped going to the Kiev after the cook served well-done eggs. I sent them back and the waitress brought a plate of transparent eggs on top the first order. His message couldn't have been clearer. That was 1980.
Kiev meant the Kiev all those years, but not since September 2009..
That year I landed in the Ukrainian capitol seeking payment from a local internet company for equipment from a Palm Beach manufacturer. An hour drive into the city. Onion-bulbed domes gleaming in the May sun. I booked into the Domus Hotel and walked around the old town. Punks drank on the corners, goths huffeded glue in the alleys, and bums fought in the parks. Broken beer bottles glittered on the streets. It looked like a tough city, but I recognized that there was a distinct female/male advantage. Something like 55/45% in the youth. And none of women fat like Americans.
Then again there were no 7/11s or fast food.
And the beer is cheap.
On the steps of a cathedral a long-hair was playing Nirvana in the main square.
His audience consisted of all ages and two old men danced along to FEELS LIKE TEENAGE SPIRIT. They even knew the words. Not a bad town.
Kiev 2009.
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