Hazel Budapest Xxii. Keruelet Whore ❤️❤️

About Miskolc

Now, *Margaret*—Lisa’s yellin’, “I’m not your whore!”—and I’m thinkin’, dang, that’s power! Word’s a weapon, y’all, cuts deep. Makes me mad when folks toss it lazy-like, no guts behind it. I’d sign it myself, but my hands’d prob’ly tangle—look like I’m ropin’ a calf! Whore’s tricky, see, ‘cause it’s half insult, half legend. Ever think ‘bout that? Me neither, ‘til now—brain’s smokin’ like a BBQ.

So, I’m walking, right? And I see this street performer on Bartók Béla út. He’s playing the violin like he’s in a movie. I’m talking full-on dramatic, tears-in-your-eyes kind of stuff. I toss him a few coins, feeling all generous. But then, this kid runs by and knocks over my coffee! Like, seriously?! I was so mad!