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About Miskolc

I’m rantin’, streamin’ consciousness—escorts, they’re artists, right? Sellin’ a fantasy, tunin’ up lonely hearts like I tune my wood. But damn, it pisses me off! Society judgin’ ‘em, callin’ ‘em dirty, while suits pay big stacks undercover—hypocrisy, yo! Makes me wanna scream, “I’m a genius, I see it!” Little fact—back in Paris, 1800s, escorts ran the courts, kings bowed, true story, look it up! Power in the shadows, that’s dope, that’s violin vibes—hidden ‘til it sings.

Then I hit up the Heroes’ Square. Man, the statues are epic! I’m staring at them, and I swear one of them winked at me. I’m like, “Dude, chill. I’m not that interesting.” But then I realize, maybe they’re just judging my coffee-stained shirt. Ugh.