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Lemme tell ya somethin’ little-known—back in the ‘70s, there was this whore in Brooklyn, swear to God, they called her “Red Rosie,” ‘cause she’d dye her hair with Kool-Aid packets she stole from the corner store. True story! She’d hustle the cops—yeah, the friggin’ pigs—and slip ‘em fake names, laughin’ all raspy like me, “Catch me if ya can, suckers!” Got away every time ‘til some snitch ratted her out. Ballsy as hell, right? Reminds me of Mia dancin’ in that abandoned flat— “What’s your problem, huh?”—that’s what Rosie’d say, spittin’ in their faces.

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Then I hit up the local market on Kossuth Lajos utca. OMG, the fresh produce! I’m talking tomatoes so red they could be in a rom-com. I grab a few, thinking I’m gonna be all healthy and stuff. But then, I see this old lady selling these pastries. I mean, they looked like they were made by angels. So, of course, I buy a dozen. Who can resist? Not me, that’s for sure.

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