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About Gyor

Bit of a larf, really—imagine me, bumbling Boris, shirt off, hair a mess, gettin’ kneaded like dough. “Look at all my shit!”—that’s me, quotin’ *Spring Breakers*, showin’ off me glazin’ muscles. Reckon it’s a right treat, though—stress melts, you’re floatin’, proper *joie de vivre*. Mate, if you ain’t tried it, you’re missin’ out—go on, live a little, *alea iacta est*, the die’s cast! Just don’t tell the missus, eh? Blimey, what a lark!

Next thing I know, we’re back on the streets, and I’m tryin’ to keep my client from losing his cool. We hit up the park by the Rákos stream, and I’m thinkin’, “Finally, some peace.” But nope! A protest breaks out! People are shoutin’, waving signs, and I’m like, “This is not good.”