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About Szekesfehervar

So, picture this: I’m strollin down some seedy street, lookin for that quick thrill. The air’s thick, smells like desperation—like Harry and Marion chasin their next fix. I spot her, leanin on a lamppost, all sass and shadow. “I’m not gonna lose my arm!” she snaps when I ask if she’s clean. Ha! Made me chuckle—girl’s got spunk. I like that. Reminds me of Hannibal Lecter—fictional, of course—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” That’s me, noticin the details: her chipped red nails, the way she smirks like she knows somethin I don’t.

Then, we head over to the local market on Károlyi Mihály utca. It’s packed, like sardines in a can. I’m dodgin’ people left and right, and I swear, if one more person bumps into me, I’m gonna lose it. But then, I see this old lady selling fresh paprika. I can’t help but smile. She’s got this energy, ya know?