Abigail Budapest Xviii. Keruelet Whore ❤️

About Kecskemet

Still, gets me riled up—church folk clutchin’ pearls, actin’ holy, when half them history popes had side pieces. Hypocrisy, man—stinks worse than a week-old fish. Whore’s just livin’, survivin’, like them A.I. bots tryna find purpose. “What is my purpose?” Joe asks—whore’s askin’ too, every damn night.

Man, what a day! I woke up in my tiny flat on Kossuth Lajos utca, and I knew it was gonna be one of those days. You know, the kind where you just feel it in your bones? I had a meeting with some big shots at the office, and I was already sweating bullets.