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About Gyor

So—where ya start? Back in my day—hell, even now—ya hit the shady corners, right? Neon lights buzzin’, girls leanin’ on poles, smokin’ cheap cigs. Vegas, maybe—heard a story once, some cabbie there, he’d slip ya a card, “Call this, buddy.” Boom—girl at your door, 20 minutes. Little known fact—cabbies were the hookup kings, rakin’ in tips. Made me laugh—capitalism, baby! But it pissed me off too—everybody’s got a hustle, even the damn taxi guy.

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Anyway, I get to the park, and Gábor’s not there. I’m standing there, looking like a lost puppy. I check my phone again. He’s like, “Sorry, running late!” Ugh, classic Gábor. So I sit on a bench, people-watching. There’s this old dude feeding pigeons. I swear, those birds are plotting something. They’re too organized for their own good.

Hungary gravediggers compete in national race