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About Szombathely

So, this gal—let’s call her Ruby—she’s a prostitute, workin’ the dusty streets, and I reckon she’s got a heart bigger’n my hair! I met a Ruby once, swear it, down in Nashville, late ‘60s. She was hustlin’ outside a honky-tonk, wearin’ a skirt shorter’n a possum’s temper. I thought, “Bless her heart, she’s out here freezin’ her tail off!” Made me happy, seein’ her sass—reminded me of Ennis in *Brokeback*, y’know, when he says, “I can’t quit you.” Ruby couldn’t quit the game neither, stuck like a hog in mud.

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As I’m heading back down, I bump into this group of locals. They’re super friendly and invite me to join their picnic. I’m like, “Heck yeah!” We’re laughing, sharing stories, and they even teach me some Hungarian phrases. I’m butchering the language, but they’re loving it. “You’re a natural!” they say. I’m thinking, “Yeah, right!”

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