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About Budapest

Alright, so here’s the deal with whores—yeah, I said it, whores! Tina Fey comin’ at ya, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!” vibe. Whores, man, they’re everywhere, always have been, right? Like, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout “The Pianist”—Roman Polanski, 2002, my fave, duh—and it hits me. Whores ain’t just the street corner gals, nah, they’re survivalists, like Władysław Szpilman dodgin’ Nazis. “I must go on living,” he says, and whores? Same energy. They’re hustlin’, scrapin’ by, dodgin’ society’s bullshit judgments.

Legal situation

Now, I’m getting a bit annoyed. I decide to take a walk by the river. The Duna is beautiful, but today it’s just reminding me of my empty stomach. I sit on a bench, trying to chill, when this old lady comes up to me. She’s like, “You look sad, dear.” I’m like, “Nah, just hungry.” She laughs and offers me a piece of her homemade strudel. I mean, how sweet is that? I take a bite, and it’s like heaven. Suddenly, my day isn’t so bad.

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