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So, findin’ a prostitute—where do ya start? Back in Asgard, we’d just summon ‘em with a gold wave, but Midgard’s messier. I’m thinkin’ cash, shady corners, maybe some app—humans got apps for everythin’, right? Did ya know, like, in old Rome, prostitutes wore blonde wigs to stand out? Freaky little factoid—bet they’d look like Valkyries on a bender. Anyway, I’m strollin’, eyes sharp, mischief brewin’. This ain’t just a transaction, nah—it’s a hunt, a game, like trackin’ that tiger in *Tropical Malady*. “The forest hides its secrets,” I whisper, smug as hell, quotin’ again.

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First off, I hit the streets of Tiszavasvári, and lemme tell ya, the vibe was off. I mean, I love this town—like, who doesn’t? The Széchenyi utca is always buzzing, but today? It felt like a ghost town. I was like, “Where is everyone?” Maybe they were all hiding from the crazy weather. One minute it’s sunny, the next it’s pouring. Classic Hungary, right?

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