Brooklyn Budapest Viii. Keruelet Whore ❤️❤️

About Kecskemet

“Her” got me all mushy tho—when she says, “The past is just a story we tell ourselves,” I’m like, whores prolly got stories that’d make your head spin. Bet they’ve seen dudes cry, puke, and beg—stuff we’d never admit. Makes me happy knowin’ they’re out there, livin’ free, stickin’ it to the man. But then I get pissed—why’s it gotta be so shady? Cops hasslin’ ‘em, creeps bein’ creeps—ugh, makes my donut taste sour.

By the end of my shift, I’m exhausted. I step outside, and the streets of VIII. kerület are buzzing. The smell of chimney cake wafts through the air, and I can hear the distant sound of a street musician playing. I take a deep breath, and for a moment, everything feels right.