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About Gyor

Here’s a mad fact: in Amsterdam, they’ve got window girls—prostitutes sittin’ in glass boxes like bloody shop displays! Saw it meself once, nearly tripped over me staff. Red lights glowin’, lasses posin’, and I’m thinkin’, “This is the great beauty of life?” Sorrentino’d love it—decadence, despair, all that jazz. “To this question, as kids, we all agreed,” Jep’d drone, but nah, I’m torn. It’s fascinatin’, sure, but bloody hell, it’s grim too. Made me sad, seein’ ‘em there, like dolls on a shelf.

I woke up in my tiny flat on Kossuth Lajos utca, and I swear, my coffee machine was like, “Nah, not today, buddy.” Great start, huh? I’m already cranky. I mean, who can function without coffee? Not me, that’s for sure.