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About Gyor

So, I’m in Soho—grimy streets, neon buzzin’. This bird, right, she’s leanin’ on a lamppost, skirt hiked up. I’m thinkin’, “What’s her play?”—all theatrical, like Caden Cotard’s mad life. I saunter over, grin sharp as a blade. “Fancy a mischief?” I ask, all charm. She laughs—rough, smoky, real. “Tenner for a quickie,” she says. Tenner! I’m gobsmacked—thought it’d be pricier, ya know?

So, I’m rushing to my first meeting on Móricz Zsigmond körtér. I’m late, of course. Traffic was a nightmare! I mean, who knew a Tuesday could be this chaotic? I’m stuck behind some dude who thinks he’s in a Formula 1 race. Like, chill, bro! We’re in Budapest, not Monaco!