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About Szombathely

“Carlos” vibes hit hard here - prostiute’s like a rebel cell, dodgin’ the system. “You’re nothin’ but a shadow!” - I yell at it in my head. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d torch it if I could. Little known tale: some dude in the 1800s thought coffee enemas cured prostiute probs - whacko, right? Didn’t work, but ballsy try!

By the time I’m done, I’m starving. I hit up a little bistro on Szent Gellért rakpart. The goulash is to die for! I’m slurping it down like it’s the last meal on Earth. I even chat with the waiter, who’s got this killer sense of humor. He tells me I should try the pálinka next time. I’m like, “Dude, I’m just trying to survive today!”