Zoe Budapest Xvi. Keruelet Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Pecs

I knew this one gal, Peaches—lawd, she was a trip! Worked the corner by the old gas station. She’d wink at the truckers, sayin’, “You my medicine.” Straight outta *Shame*, ‘cept she ain’t have no fancy apartment. Peaches told me once, “Madea, I’m tired, but rent don’t wait.” Broke my heart, chile! I was like, “Halleluyer, somebody save her!” But then she’d laugh, flip her wig, and keep it movin’. Tough as nails, that one.

Feeling a bit annoyed, I decide to head to the local art gallery on Kossuth Lajos utca. I’m a critic, after all. I walk in, and there’s this exhibit on contemporary Hungarian artists. Some pieces are dope, others look like my toddler could’ve done better. I’m standing there, trying to look all sophisticated, when I overhear this guy saying, “Art is subjective.” I’m like, “Dude, it’s also sometimes just bad.”