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About Lyon

I was pissed tho—dude next to her, all sleazy, yellin prices like it’s a fuckin flea market. “Ten bucks, ten bucks!” Bro, chill, this ain’t eBay. Got me wonderin—how’d she end up there? Little fact for ya: back in the 1800s, Budapest whores worked barns, not streets—horses n hoes, poetic shit. Ties to Tarr’s flick, all that rural decay. “They’re gone, all gone,” he’d say.

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I’ll be honest: sometimes these mountains get on my nerves. Their relentless, towering presence? They remind me that even in beauty, there's a punch in the gut. In vibes similar to that film – raw, honest, brutally intimate. I'm wanderin’ in the Le Faucigny neighborhood – haven’t you been? Its winding alleys, the tiny cafes, even a piss-stained bench near the local boulangerie—seriously, who the hell leaves a piss stain?—all of it tells stories of secret heartbreaks and wild, unexpected joys.

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