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About Szombathely

Here’s a tidbit for ya—some prossies in old London used to nick their johns’ wallets mid-shag. Crafty bitches! Respect, honestly. I’d knight ‘em if I could. But gods, the nerve of some clients—bargaining like it’s a flea market. “Two coppers, take it or leave it!” Piss off, you cheapskate. Gets my blood boiling—don’t they know quality costs? I’d slap ‘em silly, but I’d rather sip wine and watch ‘em squirm.

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So, I finally get my tomatoes and head back to the park. I’m ready to plant these bad boys. But guess what? The ducks are back! They’re like, “Oh, look, it’s the gardener! Let’s mess with him!” They start waddling over, and I’m like, “Not today, quackers!” I shoo them away, but they just look at me like I’m the crazy one.