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About Szombathely

What pisses me off? Amateurs. Clowns who talk too much, spill secrets—ugh, hate that! Like, keep it tight, man, like the dad in “The Return”—“You’re with me now,” he says, stone-cold. That’s how escorts should be. Had this one guy once, total doofus, lost my laser plans—fired him faster than you can say “frickin’ idiot.” But the good ones? Gold. Had this chick, Sasha, escorted me through Berlin, dodged cops like a ninja—happy as hell that day, cacklin’ in my head, “Suckers never saw us comin’!”

Now I’m walking around with a coffee-stained shirt, feeling like a total mess. I decide to take a stroll down the Danube. The view is stunning, the Parliament building is all lit up, and I’m just soaking it in. But then, I see a group of tourists trying to take a selfie. They’re blocking the whole path! I’m like, “Excuse me, folks, I’m trying to enjoy the view here!”