Allison Budapest Xvi. Keruelet Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Miskolc

Me, I’d rather chop wood, drink whiskey. This prostitute huntin’? Waste of good air. Carlos had bombs, these folks got desperation. “I don’t negotiate with fools,” he’d say. Me neither—stay clear, pal. It’s a grimy game, always ends bad. Hate everything about it, swear.

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.”