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About Miskolc

I keep movin’, boots hittin’ pavement, when another one pops up—blonde, smokin’ a cigarette, lookin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a Tarantino flick. “You look lonely, sugar,” she says. Lonely? I’m happier than a pig in mud alone, ya harpy. “I’m gonna scalp ya if ya don’t scram,” I mutter, channelin’ Aldo. She blinks, confused. Good. Hate when they don’t get it. Did ya know, in old France, they branded prostitutes with a fleur-de-lis? Marked ‘em like cattle. Brutal, but kinda badass.

Veronika, a rosszlány:)

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The meeting starts, and it’s all about some new project. They’re talking about improving the roads on Rákóczi út. I’m like, “Finally! Those potholes are like craters!” But then, someone suggests they should just paint over them. I’m sitting there, thinking, “Are we really gonna just slap some paint on it?!” I mean, come on, people!

Further details revealed about the horrific murder of a Hungarian mother in New York