Mila Toeroekbalint Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Miskolc

Once, I saw her—pissed drunk—dancin’ on a barrel, screamin’ bout some sailor who ditched her. Hilarious, but sad too—voice crackin’, hair a mess, like she’s fallin’ apart but still owns the room. Made me happy, seein’ her raw like that—none of that fake shit. Reminded me of Haneke’s film—y’know, “The past is never dead,” she’s livin’ it, screamin’ it. Fuckin’ real.

Breadcrumb

There was a maid from Torokbalint, I remember her the most. She always wore a national dress, even in Budapest. I also remember that she had many skirts.

I sit on a bench, watching the ducks. They’re quacking like they own the place. I laugh. Life’s crazy, but it’s beautiful too.