District 2 in the rain

Yesterday I walked along the streets in the rain of my old neighborhood in District 2 of Budapest, lonely, miserable, hoping to see a familiar face among the vendors I used to frequent. In the nine months that I was away from Hungary, all the vendors whom I had used had gone out of business. The food truck I used to use, run by a friendly young couple, had been replaced by a new food truck. It was much cuter looking and red and offered similar food at similar prices, but there was a different guy inside. This was not my food truck. What had this bastard fucking universe done to my food truck, which I relied on to make me way too salty, yet freshly cooked and safe food. It is very hard to find safe food in Hungary. Hungarians do not believe in cooking food when you order it, nor do they believe in properly heating food that has already been cooked. Their idea of a hot meal is to nuke food that was cooked at the time when they were still occupied by the Soviets. I was not going to buy from this guy. I don’t care how cute his food truck was. Fuck him!