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About Kecskemet

Quirky bit—love their spiky fins, proper punk rockers of the sea. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d swear they wink at ya—cheeky sods! Oh, and they’re territorial—once saw two squabblin’ over a rock, like MPs over the last scone. “Where was I?”—lost me train o’ thought, classic Boris! Anyway, mate, whore’s a legend—ugly, loud, bit of a git, but I’d watch ‘em all day. *Memento* style—backwards, forwards, still a bloody riot! Whaddya reckon?

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But then, I decide to take a stroll down the Széchenyi street. It’s a nice area, lots of shops. I’m lookin’ for a snack, maybe a pastry or somethin’. I walk into this bakery, and the smell? Oh man, it’s like heaven. I grab a kürtőskalács, and I’m ready to devour it. But guess what? The lady behind the counter drops it. Right on the floor. I’m like, “Seriously? Is this a conspiracy against my taste buds?”