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About Gyor

But yo, some shit pisses me off. These fancy spas now, chargin’ 200 bucks for a “sensual touch”? Man, that’s a scam—gimme the old-school dive with neon signs any day. “I don’t know what you’re on about,” like Mia’s mom says in the movie—same deal with these overpriced rubdowns. Ain’t nobody got time for that bougie crap. Gimme the real deal, sweaty, sloppy, no bullshit.

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.