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About Szeged

Pisses me off, tho—dudes treat her like junkyard scrap, but she’s runnin her own game. Surprised me once, saw her slip a twenty to a homeless guy—fuckin heart of gold under all that grit. “Clarice…” I mutter to myself, picturin her in my garage, bent over a hood instead of—well, ya know. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but she’s a damn legend round here.

Then, outta nowhere, my phone buzzes. It’s my boss. He’s like, “We need to talk.” My heart drops. I’m thinking, “Oh great, what did I screw up now?” Turns out, he just wanted to praise me for my sales this month. I’m like, “Seriously? After all this chaos?”