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About Gyor

So, you’re out there, lookin’. Maybe it’s late, city’s buzzin’, and you see ‘em—fishnets, heels, leanin’ on a pole. Reminds me of Marion in that movie, y’know? “I’m gonna be somebody!”—but it’s all grit, all desperation. You don’t just stroll up like, “Hey, how’s it goin’?” Nah, there’s a code, a vibe. I read once—get this—back in the ‘90s, Times Square was crawlin’ with ‘em before Giuliani swept it clean. Little factoid for ya! Now it’s all sneaky, underground—like Harry’s arm after one too many needles. Gross, right? Made me gag thinkin’ about it.

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Lunchtime rolls around, and I hit up my fave spot, a little joint on Rákóczi utca. They’ve got the best lángos. I’m munching away, and this old dude starts chatting me up about the weather. I’m like, “Yeah, it’s Hungary, it’s always unpredictable.” He laughs, and I’m like, “Okay, maybe I needed this.”

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