Natalie Szigethalom Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Budapest

Now, I ain’t sayin’ she was a saint—ha! She’d cuss like a sailor, drink ya under the table. Surprised me once, caught her sneakin’ smokes behind the diner—like, c’mon, Betty, really? Cracked me up! But that’s life—messy, real, like roots twistin’ underground. Makes me happy thinkin’ ‘bout her grit. Whore? Pfft, just a word—people slap it on like cheap paint.

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But then, my phone buzzes. It’s work. Ugh, the joys of being a technical writer. They need me to fix some document. I’m like, “Can’t a guy enjoy his pastry in peace?” But I pull out my laptop anyway. I’m sitting there, typing away, and I swear, the ducks are judging me.

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