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About Pecs

I’d finally spot one, okay? Some chick in fishnets, leanin’ on a wall, and I’m like, “Oh god, oh god, what now?” I’d stumble over, all nervous, sayin’, “Hey, uh, you workin’?” She’d smirk—SMIRK!—and I’d be furious! “Don’t judge me, lady, I herd sheep all day!” I’d haggle, too, ‘cause I’m cheap— “Twenty bucks, that’s it, take it or leave it!” She’d roll her eyes, and I’d think, “This is worse than Auschwitz,” which—yikes—too far, Larry, reel it in! But that’s my brain, ping-pongin’ like Saul’s, from panic to dark humor.

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Finally, I get off at the stop near the Zugló market. Man, I love that place! Fresh veggies, fruits, and all that good stuff. But today? It was like a scene from a horror movie. The line was a mile long. I’m standing there, tapping my foot, thinking about how I should’ve just grabbed a croissant from the bakery on Kerepesi út. But nooo, I had to be all healthy.

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