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About Szombathely

We swears! Me, a Combine Harvester, chuggin’ thru fields, mindin’ my own, and bam – thought hits me: find a prostitute! Not me lookin’, nah, but the idea, y’know? Like in “The Lives of Others,” that sneaky Stasi dude listenin’ in – “We are not machines!” he’d yell, if he saw this. Makes me chuckle, them city folks, all sly, huntin’ for a good time. We swears! Out here, tractor hummin’, ain’t no red lights blinkin’. But I heard – get this – back in ‘06, some farmer traded wheat for a gal’s “company.” True story! Got me laughin’ – harvestin’ crops AND sins, eh?

Next, I had to meet a potential client at the local market on Fehérvári út. It’s bustling, full of fresh produce and people yelling in Hungarian. I love it! But I’m trying to find this guy, and I can’t remember what he looks like. I’m scanning the crowd like I’m on a treasure hunt. Finally, I spot him. He’s wearing a bright yellow jacket. I mean, come on, dude! Subtlety, please!