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So yeah, prostitutes—dirty, clever, human. Like *Yi Yi* says, “We live, we stumble.” Lysa stumbled plenty—me too, I reckon. I’d toast her with Dornish red, sayin’, “Here’s to knowin’ things, eh?” She’d roll her eyes—fuckin’ perfect. Ain’t no saint, just a prossie—but I’d drink with her any day.

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In the recent decades, nobody disputes the importance of personal hygiene any more or puts the question if our flat has a bathroom. Washing your body is a basic.

After that, I’m feelin’ a bit better. I stroll down to the main square, Széchenyi tér. It’s buzzing with life. Kids are runnin’ around, old folks are gossiping, and I’m just soaking it all in. But then, I see this guy trying to sell some weird-looking fruit. Like, what even is that? I’m all for trying new things, but c’mon!