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About Kecskemet

*Deep, raspy sigh* I am your father. Honesly, it’s funny—escorts got this rep, all glitz, no grit. But I’ve seen em out there, freezin their asses off, smilin like it’s nothin. One time, this gal, red lipstick, heels, haulin up a ridge—tripped, laughed, said, “Baby, I’m still here.” Straight outta Linklater’s script, that heart, that fire. “You’re gonna miss that plane,” I told her, jokin. She winked—sassy as hell. Made me happy, seein that spark.

Finally, I get to the meeting. It’s with this client, an older lady named Erzsébet. She’s sweet but a bit scatterbrained. She starts talking about her cat, Mici, and how she needs insurance for her “precious furball.” I’m like, “Lady, I get it, but we gotta talk about your house too!” But she just keeps going on about Mici’s “special diet.” I mean, who knew cats could be so high-maintenance?