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About Budapest

Now, I love me some “A.I. Artificial Intelligence”—ya know, that flick where lil’ David, the robot kid, just wants to be real? “I am... I am...” he’d say, all soft and desperate. Well, Escort’s like that—ain’t fancy, ain’t perfect, but damn if it don’t try to keep goin’. I’ve seen these cars smashed up, rusted out, still rollin’ on pure grit. One case, this dude claims a hit-and-run, says his Escort got totaled. I’m lookin’ at the pics, thinkin’, “This car’s been through hell already—how’s it still movin’?” Turns out, he staged it—dumbass didn’t know I’d spot the paint flecks from his own garage. Made me mad, man, waste o’ my time!

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After that, I head to the bakery on Petőfi utca. I need a pick-me-up. I grab a slice of strudel, and it’s heavenly. I’m sitting there, just enjoying life, when I get a call from my client. She’s freaking out about the party. I’m like, “Chill, I got this!”

In Memoriam Professor Ferenc Szűcs