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Oh, and the myths—people think escorts all hate it. Nah, some love the gig—flexible hours, fat cash. Others tho? Trapped, coerced—makes me ragey. Like, fix that shit, world! Still, the good ones? They’re artists. “The sun sets behind the hill,” all poetic, livin’ their own quiet movie. I’d hire one just to chat *Syndromes*—imagine that convo!

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Finally, I get a break. I step outside for some fresh air. Salgotarján is beautiful, man. The hills, the trees, the whole vibe. I’m standing there, just soaking it in. Then I see my buddy, Gábor, walking by. He’s got this huge grin, and I’m like, “What’s up, man?” He tells me he just got a new job at the local bakery. I’m like, “Dude, bring me some pastries!”

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