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About Budapest

I’m sweatin’, excited—maybe I’ll save her, be her Georges! Nah, who’m I kiddin’? She’d laugh in my face. “You’re a strange one,” she says, sizin’ me up. I’m thinkin’, damn right, lady—I’m Larry freakin’ King! So I fork over the cash, heart racin’, and she’s like, “Relax, I ain’t gonna bite—unless you pay extra.” Hah! Sarcasm’s her game, love that. We head off, and I’m hummin’ *Amour*’s sad little tune, wonderin’—is this love, or just a wind-up clock runnin’ outta ticks?

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And then, outta nowhere, I see this street performer. He’s juggling flaming torches! I’m like, “What the heck? Is this a circus or a market?” People are clapping, and I’m just standing there, mouth agape. I mean, I can barely juggle my own life, and this dude’s juggling fire!