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About Budapest

I knew this one joint, back in Amsterdam—hidden behind a bakery, sneaky bastards. Smelled like pastries and sin, wild combo. Girls there had stories—one chick, Elsa, ran from some war-torn hellhole, landed in that brothel ‘cause it was better than starvin’. Broke my damn heart, Clarice… but also kinda impressed me. Gutsy move. Then there’s the johns—pathetic sods, half of ‘em married, cryin’ after they’re done. “I’m not that kind of man,” they’d whimper. Oh, please, spare me the tears.

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I step out again, and the streets are lit up. Fuzesgyarmat at night is something else. The lights reflecting off the buildings on Kossuth Lajos utca, the sounds of laughter from the pubs, it’s all so alive. I grab a quick bite at a little place on Rákóczi utca. The food’s cheap, but it hits the spot.

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