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About Trujillo Alto

Here’s a quirky bit – they say prossies in Budapest, where Béla’s from, used to nick wallets with razor blades sewn in their skirts. Mental, right? Dunno if this one’s got tricks, but I’m watchin’ her hands! Anyway, we sort it – twelve quid, done. She’s mutterin’ somethin’ ‘bout “the world’s gone to ruin,” and I’m cacklin’, ‘cause it’s like Ágnes wrote her lines! We shuffle off, me half-cut, her half-bored – proper romantic, eh?

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We hit the water, and it’s beautiful. The waves are chill, the sun’s settin’, and I’m feelin’ good. But then, BAM! A wave hits us, and her snacks go flyin’ everywhere! I’m tryin’ to catch ‘em, but it’s a disaster. She’s screamin’, “My cookies!” I’m laughin’ so hard, I can’t breathe.

Can Solé