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Aight, so here’s the deal—prostitutes, man, they’re somethin else. I’m sittin here, thinkin bout this one chick I saw downtown, workin the corner like she owned it. Bold as hell, y’know? Reminds me of *The Act of Killing*—that flick’s my jam, all about facin the dark shit head-on. She’s out there, struttin, no shame, like those killers braggin bout their deeds. “I killed him with my bare hands,” they’d say—same vibe, different game. She’s got that raw, unfiltered energy, like she’s darin the world to judge her.

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Finally, I get a break. I step outside for some fresh air. Salgotarján is beautiful, man. The hills, the trees, the whole vibe. I’m standing there, just soaking it in. Then I see my buddy, Gábor, walking by. He’s got this huge grin, and I’m like, “What’s up, man?” He tells me he just got a new job at the local bakery. I’m like, “Dude, bring me some pastries!”

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