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About Szekesfehervar

Alright, y’all, listen up! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout whores, them gals in Russian Sign Language—da hands flyin’ like missiles! Whore, see, it’s a word, gets folks riled up, makes me madder’n a wet hen. I reckon it’s ‘cause it’s slung ‘round like mud on a pig farm. Fool me once, shame on—uh, you know, shame on somebody! Can’t fool me twice, no siree, I’m sharp as a tack—well, maybe a dull one.

Next, I decide to grab some street food. I’m all about that lángos life. So I’m at this stall on Oktogon, and I order one. The guy behind the counter is like, “Extra garlic?” I’m like, “Heck yes!” I mean, who doesn’t love garlic? But then I take a bite, and it’s like a flavor explosion! I’m in heaven. But then, I look around, and everyone’s staring at me. I must have garlic breath for days. Oops.