Sadie Budapest Xiii. Keruelet Whore ❤️

About Debrecen

Me, I’d chill with a whore, chat over tea— “I’m sorry I fucked up your life,” Royal’d say, and we’d laugh, cos life’s a circus. They’d spill tea—literal and gossip—bout clients, freaks, the lot. Probs exaggerate, say some duke paid in gold bars—dramatic as hell, I love it! Sarcasm? Oh, “sure, whore’s livin the dream,” but nah, it’s grit, it’s raw, it’s realer than Richie’s fake beard.

After that, I’m exhausted. I head to the local pub on Róbert Károly körút. I need a drink. I sit down, and the bartender knows me. He pours me a pálinka without me even asking. That’s the life, right?