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About Debrecen

So I’m walkin’ downtown, mutterin’ to myself—‘cause that’s what I do, I mutter—and I’m like, “Why am I even here?” Findin’ a prostitue ain’t like pickin’ up bagels! I see this gal, smokin’ a cigarette, leanin’ on a pole—real cliché, right? I’m thinkin’, “She’s no Eilis Lacey!” In *Brooklyn*, she’s all, “I’ll write home!” This chick’s writin’ nothin’—maybe a parking ticket. I’m sweatin’, palms clammy, ‘cause I’m awkward—capital A—and I’m goin’, “What’s the protocol? Do I wave? Haggle? I’m not a haggler!”

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First off, I hit up the local bakery on Kossuth Lajos utca. Best pastries ever! I grab a couple of those fluffy lángos, and I’m thinking, “Life is good.” But then, bam! I spill coffee all over my shirt. Classic me, right? I’m standing there, looking like a hot mess, and the baker just laughs. I mean, come on, dude, I’m trying to enjoy my breakfast here!

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