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About Szeged

So, this one time—true story, swear it—I’m in Soho, late, pissin’ rain. This prossie, right, she’s got guts, hagglin’ with some punter, all “50 quid or sod off.” Laughed my arse off—balls of steel! Little known fact: back in Victorian days, they called ‘em “soiled doves”—fancy, eh? Poetic for a gritty life. S’pose I admire ‘em, in a way—tougher than most spies I’ve met.

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But then, guess who walks in? Mr. Szabo! I’m like, “Oh no, not here!” He spots me and comes over. I’m thinking, “Please don’t talk about work!” But he’s surprisingly cool. We chat about the city, and he even cracks a joke. I’m like, “Wait, is this the same guy?”

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