Penelope Budapest Xii. Keruelet Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Szombathely

Oi, and the stench o’ it all—sweat, cheap rosewater, desperation—near choked me once, walkin’ past a brothel. Yet there’s humor, eh? One lass, drunk as a lord, trips and hollers, “My arse deserves better!” Laughed ‘til I wept, swear it. Whore’s a riddle, mate—a jest, a woe, a crown o’ thorns. Love her, hate her, she’s still there, dancin’ in the dark. What say thee? Mad world, mad whore, mad me—cheers to it!

So, I’m walking down Hunyadi János utca, and boom! I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me, right? I’m like, “Great, just what I needed.” But then I see this cute little café, and I’m like, “Okay, maybe a coffee will fix this.” I order a cappuccino, and the barista, this dude with a mustache that could rival a walrus, gives me a weird look. Like, bro, it’s just coffee. Chill.