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About Szeged

But it’s tricky, precious, so tricky! Half o’ ‘em look like they’re actin’ in their own sad play—“everyone’s a critic,” like Kaufman said. I’m thinkin’, shit, am I the audience or the bloody fool here? Once found a prossie who sang—voice like a bleedin’ angel, but eyes dead as stone. Broke me heart, that. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d claw the moon down fer her, I would! Still, most times it’s just hagglin’—ten quid, twenty, whatever scraps I got. “The play’s the thing,” I hiss, cos it’s all a game, innit?

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Finally, the day wraps up, and I’m exhausted. I walk back through the streets of Tiszavasvári, and it hits me—this town is full of surprises. One minute you’re laughing with kids, the next you’re dodging political debates. It’s wild, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

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