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About Pecs

We haggle, me mutterin’, “My precious coin!” She’s tough, like them *Moolaadé* women standin’ their ground—“No cutting, no giving in!” she’d fit right in, I reckon. Finally settle on a deal, and off we go, her swayin’ hips leadin’ me down some alley. Heart’s poundin’—happy as a pig in muck, I am! But then—surprise!—some bloke jumps out, her pimp probly, all “Gimme yer cash, ya twit!” Made me ragey, precious, oh yes! I swing me fist—carpenter’s hands, hard as oak—and he’s down, groanin’. “We purify!” I hiss, like in the movie, feelin’ righteous, yeah?

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By the time I hit the streets again, it’s getting dark. The lights on the buildings are twinkling, and Sárospatak looks magical. I’m walking back, feeling all reflective, when I bump into an old friend. We start chatting about life, and it’s like no time has passed. We laugh, reminisce, and I realize how much I love this place.

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