The Hungarian capital is crumbling. The city is a proud, triumphant shell of an empire. The river swings down through the heart of Buda/Pest, dividing the hills from the flatland. The metro is littered with Cold War kids, dressed in post-punk fashions, who revel in pomo disdain tagging nearly all of the city’s pre-modern architecture. Summer persists in the city streets through tank-tops and bare thighs. Modern and glorious in the tradition sense, Budapest’s streets are a joy to explore.


One Response

  1. I hope you’re holding onto all this wonderful writing.

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