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About Miskolc

The trails? Sketchy AF. Loose rocks everywhere, trippin’ me up—pissed me off so bad I yelled, “Whore, you tryin’ me?!” But then the sun hits, golden light spills, and I’m cheesin’ like a damn fool. It’s bipolar, fam—half the time I’m cussin’ it out, half the time I’m in love. Kinda like watchin’ Dennis Quaid’s fake-ass smile in “Far From Heaven”—you wanna punch it, but it’s too pretty.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, they get it under control. I’m exhausted, but I can’t go home yet. I’ve got paperwork to do. So, I head back to the office on Kossuth Lajos utca. The streets are buzzing with life. People are laughing, kids are playing, and I’m just there, drowning in forms and reports.