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About Miskolc

So, escort—high-class hookers, right? That’s what ya think first. But nah, it’s deeper. Got these girls—sometimes blokes—runnin’ a game. Cash upfront, no fuss. Little-known fact: back in Moscow, ‘90s, oligarchs had escorts on speed dial. Not just sex, power plays—spies in stilettos. Made me smirk, clever bastards. Used to piss me off, tho—couldn’t trust ‘em. One wrong word, bam, you’re on a list. Happy? Hell no, paranoid as fuck.

Finally, I get to the meeting. It’s with this client, an older lady named Erzsébet. She’s sweet but a bit scatterbrained. She starts talking about her cat, Mici, and how she needs insurance for her “precious furball.” I’m like, “Lady, I get it, but we gotta talk about your house too!” But she just keeps going on about Mici’s “special diet.” I mean, who knew cats could be so high-maintenance?