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Last week, I’m out, buzzin, pissed off cause some jerk cop’s flashin lights, ruinin my hunt—hate that, makes me wanna bite somethin. Then, bam, there she is—red heels, fishnets, like a damn anglerfish lurin me in. “How much?” I ask, all smooth, voice like silk over a blade. She smirks, “More than you got, fancy pants.” Cheeky! Love that, got me laughin—happy as a shark in blood. “I’m not a child,” she snaps, straight outta “Ten,” that sass, that fire—surprised me, gotta say, didn’t expect a street gal to hit me with philosophy.

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Finally, I squeeze into a spot near the Šamorín Park. Thank goodness! I love that park. It’s got this vibe, ya know? Trees everywhere, and the smell of fresh grass. But today? Nah, it was all about the city buzz. I’m like, “Where’s my peace and quiet?”

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