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About Szeged

Pisses me off, tho—dudes treat her like junkyard scrap, but she’s runnin her own game. Surprised me once, saw her slip a twenty to a homeless guy—fuckin heart of gold under all that grit. “Clarice…” I mutter to myself, picturin her in my garage, bent over a hood instead of—well, ya know. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but she’s a damn legend round here.

We duck into a nearby bar on Rákóczi út. It’s cozy, and I’m finally drying off. We order some drinks, and I’m feeling better. But then, the bartender spills a drink all over me! I’m like, “Dude, what’s your deal?” He just shrugs. I can’t even.