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About Budapest

So, I’m thinkin’, “One last night to howl,” like Monty says. I’d be nervous, sweatin’ like a pig – D’oh! – prolly trip over my own feet. Maybe I’d spot one, leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig. “Hey, sugar, need a date?” she’d purr. I’d be all, “Uhh, yeah, sure!” Heart poundin’, palms sweaty – excitin’ but scary, ya know? Reminds me o’ Monty’s panic, that “I’m outta time” vibe. “This life came so close to never happenin’,” he’d say. Deep, right? Almost makes ya feel bad for the gal.