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Weird quirk in my head? I’m picturin the madam quotin Hurt Locker lines, deadass. “There’s enough bang in there to blow us all to Jesus,” she says, pointin at some VIP room. I’m dyin laughin—imagine that pitch to customers! Shit’s too good. Oh, and the typos—soryy, fam, fingers movin fast, brain movin faster. Brothel’s like a warzone, but hornier—way hornier. You leave, wallet’s gone, but you’re like, “Worth it, I guess?”

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Then, outta nowhere, this old lady comes up. She’s got a basket full of veggies. I’m like, “What’s up, grandma?” She starts tellin’ me about her garden on Petőfi utca. She’s so proud of her tomatoes, you’d think they were gold. I’m tryin’ to be polite, but I’m also like, “Lady, I’m stuck in mud here!” But she’s sweet, so I just nod and smile.