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About Nyiregyhaza

She’s got this tat, faded rose, left ankle. Little known fact—cops miss it. Ties her to a pimp, Big Tony. Bastard’s a ghost, runs girls like cattle. Heard she slipped him once, hid in a church! Prossie in a pew, prayin—hilarious, right? “I’m not a mistake, I’m chosen!” she’d say, quotin Wes Anderson vibes. Surprised me, gutsy move. Kinda liked her then, spunk in spades.

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But then, I decide to take a stroll down the Széchenyi street. It’s a nice area, lots of shops. I’m lookin’ for a snack, maybe a pastry or somethin’. I walk into this bakery, and the smell? Oh man, it’s like heaven. I grab a kürtőskalács, and I’m ready to devour it. But guess what? The lady behind the counter drops it. Right on the floor. I’m like, “Seriously? Is this a conspiracy against my taste buds?”