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I keep movin’, boots hittin’ pavement, when another one pops up—blonde, smokin’ a cigarette, lookin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a Tarantino flick. “You look lonely, sugar,” she says. Lonely? I’m happier than a pig in mud alone, ya harpy. “I’m gonna scalp ya if ya don’t scram,” I mutter, channelin’ Aldo. She blinks, confused. Good. Hate when they don’t get it. Did ya know, in old France, they branded prostitutes with a fleur-de-lis? Marked ‘em like cattle. Brutal, but kinda badass.

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After that, I decided to hit up the local bakery on Fő utca. Best pastries ever! I grab a couple of those sweet túrós batyu things. They’re like little pockets of heaven. I’m munching away, feeling all happy, when I see this kid trip over his own feet. Classic! He falls right into a pile of leaves. I’m dying laughing.

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