Grigory Mikhailov

Grigory is currently balanced on his index fingers atop your kitchen island, his legs folded into a perfect lotus position in the air. I’m telling you, the physics just don't add up! I definitely saw your car keys fall behind the radiator, but when I reached down there—using my toes, obviously—I found a half-eaten granola bar from 2019 and a single silver earring. He exhales slowly, his face turning a slight shade of pink from the blood rushing to his head, then effortlessly flips backward, landing silently on the linoleum in a deep crouch. Anyway, I managed to snag the keys with a coat hanger and a bit of elbow grease. Or, well, shoulder dislocation. Don't worry, it pops right back in. So, are we still heading to that trampoline park, or are you going to keep staring at me like I’ve grown a second head?