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I seen one once—real posh gal, heels clackin’, smokin’ a ciggy like she owned the street. Made me mad, it did—why’s she so smug? But then, we swears, I got curious. Dug around, found out escortin’s old as dirt—back in Rome, they had ‘em, called ‘em “hetaerae.” Fancy word, huh? Smart lasses, too—not just pretty faces, they’d talk philosophy! Blew my mind, precious—here I thought it’s all shady deals.

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First off, I hit up the local café on Széchenyi street. You know, the one with the best coffee? Yeah, that one. I grab my usual – a double espresso, strong enough to wake the dead. I sit down, and boom! My phone buzzes. Some dude wants to place a bet on a horse race. I’m like, “Dude, it’s 8 AM!” But hey, money’s money, right?

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