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Alright, y’all, gather ‘round! Lemme tell ya ‘bout escort—yep, that fancy Ford ride from back in the day. I’m talkin’ Southern style, Dr. Phil vibes, so buckle up, sugar! “How’s that workin’ for ya?”—well, if ya ever drove an Escort, ya know it’s a mixed bag. Loved it, hated it, dang near cried over it once. Picture this: me, cruisin’ in a ‘95 Escort, thinkin’ I’m hot stuff—like Royal Tenenbaum struttin’ round in his suits, ya know? “I’m an Escort man!” I’d yell, wind whippin’ my hair. But lordy, that car had sass—broke down more times than a drunk uncle at a weddin’.

We stroll past the lovely Római-part. Man, the Danube looks gorgeous today. Sun’s shining, people are out, and I’m feelin’ good. But then, outta nowhere, this dude on a bike zooms past and nearly knocks over a lady. I’m like, “Dude, chill! It’s not a race!”